L  C.  GULLEY 

903  AVA^"    ~  ■ 

VENlCt,  u,lir.. 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

WEW  YORK  •    BOSTON  •    CHICAGO  •   DALLAS 
ATLANTA  •    SAN  FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  Limited 

LONDON   •    BOMBAY   •    CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNB 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA.  Ltd. 

TORONTO 


MULTITUDE  AND 
SOLITUDE 


BY 

JOHN  MASEFIELD 

Author  of  "The  Everlasting  Mercy,"  "The  Widow 

in  the  Bye  Street,"  "The  Daffodil  Fields," 

"Captain  Margaret,"  etc. 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 
1916 

s 


TO 
MY  WIFE 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 


WTiat  play  do  they  play?     Some  confounded  play  or  other. 
Let's  send  for  some  cards.     I  ne'er  saw  a  play  had  anj'thing  in't. 

A  True  Widow. 

ROGER  NALDRETT,  the  writer,  sat  in  his  box 
with  a  friend,  watching  the  second  act  of  his 
■"  tragedy.  The  first  act  had  been  received 
coldly;  the  cast  was  nervous,  and  the  house,  critical  as 
a  first-night  audience  always  is,  had  begun  to  fidget. 
He  watched  his  failure  without  much  emotion.  He  had 
lived  through  his  excitement  in  the  days  before  the  pro- 
duction; but  the  moment  interested  him,  it  was  so  un- 
real. The  play  was  not  like  the  play  which  he  had 
watched  so  often  in  rehearsal.  Unless  some  speech 
jarred  upon  him,  as  failing  to  help  the  action,  he  found 
that  he  could  not  judge  of  it  in  detail.  In  the  manu- 
script, and  in  the  rehearsals,  he  had  tested  it  only  in  de- 
tail. Now  he  saw  it  as  a  whole,  as  something  new,  as 
a  rough  and  strong  idea,  of  which  he  could  make  noth- 
ing.    Shut  up  there  in  the  box,  away  from  the  emotions 

of  the  house,  he  felt  himself  removed  from  time,  the 

3 


4  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

only  person  in  the  theatre  under  no  compulsion  to 
attend.  He  sat  far  back  in  the  box,  so  that  his  friend, 
John  O'Neill,  might  have  a  better  view  of  the  stage. 
He  was  conscious  of  the  blackness  of  John's  head  against 
the  stage  lights,  and  of  a  gleam  of  gilt  on  the  opposite 
boxes.  Sometimes  when,  at  irregular  intervals,  he  saw 
some  of  the  cast,  on  the  far  left  of  the  stage,  he  felt  dis- 
gust at  the  crudity  of  the  grease  paint  smeared  on  their 
faces. 

Sometimes  an  actor  hesitated  for  his  lines,  forgot  a 
few  words,  or  improvised  others.  He  drew  in  his 
breath  sharply,  whenever  this  happened,  it  was  like  a 
false  note  in  music;  but  he  knew  that  he  was  the  only 
person  there  who  felt  the  discord.  He  found  himself 
admiring  the  address  of  these  actors;  they  had  nerve; 
they  carried  on  the  play,  though  their  memories  were  a 
whirl  of  old  tags  all  jumbled  together.  It  was  when 
there  was  a  pause  in  the  action,  through  delay  at  an  en- 
trance, that  the  harrow  drove  over  his  soul;  for  in  the 
silence,  at  the  end  of  it,  when  those  who  wanted  to 
cough  had  coughed,  there  sometimes  came  a  single  half- 
hearted clap,  more  damning  than  a  hiss.  At  those  times 
he  longed  to  be  on  the  stage  crying  out  to  the  actors  how 
much  he  admired  them.  He  was  shut  up  in  his  box, 
under  cover,  but  they  were  facing  the  music.  They 
were  playing  to  a  cold  wall  of  shirt-fronts,  not  yet  hos- 
tile, but  puzzled  by  the  new  mind,  and  vexed  by  it. 
They  might   rouse   pointed   indifference   in   the   shirt- 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  5 

fronts,  they  might  rouse  fury,  they  would  certainly  win 
no  praise.  Roger  felt  pity  for  them.  He  wished  that 
the  end  would  come  swiftly,  that  he  might  be  decently 
damned  and  allowed  to  go. 

Towards  the  middle  of  the  act  the  leading  lady  made 
a  pitiful  brave  effort  to  save  the  play.  She  played  with 
her  whole  strength,  in  a  way  which  made  his  spirit  rise 
up  to  bless  her.  Her  effort  kept  the  house  for  a  mo- 
ment. That  dim  array  of  heads  and  shirt-fronts  became 
polite,  attentive;  a  little  glimmer  of  a  thrill  began  to 
pass  from  the  stalls  over  the  house,  as  the  communicable 
magic  grew  stronger.  Then  the  second  lady,  who,  as 
Roger  knew,  had  been  feverish  at  the  dress  rehearsal, 
struggled  for  a  moment  with  a  sore  throat  which  made 
the  performance  torture  to  her.  Roger  heard  her  voice 
break,  knowing  very  well  what  it  meant.  He  longed  to 
cry  out  to  comfort  her;  though  the  only  words  which 
came  to  his  heart  were :  "  You  poor  little  devil." 
Then  a  man  in  the  gallery  shouted  to  her  to  "  Speak  up, 
please."  Half  a  dozen  others  took  up  the  cry.  They 
wreaked  on  the  poor  woman's  misfortune  all  the  venom 
which  they  felt  against  the  play.  Craning  far  forward, 
the  author  saw  the  second  lady  bite  her  lip  with  cha- 
grin ;  but  she  spoke  up  like  a  heroine.  After  that  the 
spell  lost  hold.  The  act  dragged  on,  people  coughed 
and  fidgeted ;  the  play  seemed  to  grow  in  absurd  un- 
reality, till  Roger  wondered  why  there  was  no  hissing. 
The  actors,  who  had  been  hitherto  too  slow,  began  to 


6  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

hurry.  They  rushed  through  an  instant  of  dramatic 
interest,  which,  with  a  good  audience,  would  have  gone 
solemnly.  The  climax  came  with  a  rush,  the  act  ended, 
the  last  speech  was  spoken.  Then,  for  five,  ten,  fifteen, 
twenty  fearful  seconds  the  curtain  hesitated.  The  ab- 
surd actors  stood  absurdly  waiting  for  the  heavy  red 
cloth  to  cloak  them  from  the  house.  Something  had 
jammed,  or  the  flyman  had  missed  his  cue.  When  the 
curtain  fell  half  the  house  was  sniggering.  The  half- 
dozen  derisive  claps  which  followed  were  intended  for 
the  flyman. 

The  author's  box  happened  to  be  the  royal  box,  with 
a  sitting-room  beyond  it,  furnished  principally  with 
chairs  and  ash-trays.  When  the  lights  brightened, 
Roger  walked  swiftly  into  the  sitting-room  and  lighted 
a  cigarette.     John  O'Neill  came  stumbling  after  him. 

"  It's  very  good.  It's  very  good,"  he  said  with  vehe- 
mence. "  It's  all  I  thought  it  when  you  read  it.  The 
audience  don't  know  what  to  make  of  it.  They're  puz- 
zled by  the  new  mind.  It's  the  finest  thing  that's  been 
done  here  since  poor  Wentworth's  thing."  He  paused 
for  a  second,  then  looked  at  Roger  with  a  hard,  shrewd, 
medical  look.  "  I  don't  quite  like  the  look  of  your  lead- 
ing lady.     She's  going  to  break  down." 

"  They'll  never  stand  the  third  act,"  said  Roger. 
"  There'll  be  a  row  in  the  third  act." 

At  this  moment  the  door  opened.  Falempin,  the 
manager  of  the  theatre,  a  gross  and  cheerful  gentleman, 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  7 

with  the  relics  of  a  boisterous  vinous  beauty  in  his  face, 
entered  with  a  mock  bow. 

"  Naldrett,"  he  said,  with  a  strong  French  accent, 
"  you  are  all  right.  Your  play  is  very  fine.  Very  in- 
teresting. I  go  to  lose  four  thousan'  poun'  over  your 
play.  Eh  ?  Very  good.  What  so  ?  Som'  day  I  go 
to  make  forty  thousan'  poun'  out  of  your  play.  Eh? 
It  is  all  in  a  day's  work.  The  peegs  "  (he  meant  his 
patrons,  the  audience)  "  will  not  stan'  your  third  act. 
It  is  too  —  it  is  too  — "  He  shook  his  head  over  the 
third  act.  "  Miss  Hanlon,  pretty  little  Miss  Hanlon, 
she  go  into  hysterics." 

"  Could  I  go  round  to  speak  to  her  ?  "  Roger  asked. 

"  No  good,"  said  Falempin.  "  She  cannot  see  any 
one.     She  will  not  interrupt  her  illusion." 

"  What  happened  to  the  curtain  ?  "  O'lSTeill  asked. 

"  Ah,  the  curtain.  It  was  absurd.  I  go  to  see  about 
the  curtain.  We  meet  at  Philippi.  Eh  ?  There  will 
be  a  row.  But  you  are  all  right,  Naldrett.  You  know 
John  O'Neill.  Eh  ?  Mr.  O'Neill  he  tell  you  you  are 
all  right."  He  bowed  with  a  flourish  of  gloved  hands, 
and  vanished  through  the  stage  door. 

"  John,"  said  Roger,  "  the  play's  killed.  I  don't 
mind  about  the  play ;  but  I  want  to  know  what  it  is  that 
they  hate." 

"  They  hate  the  new  mind,"  said  Roger.  "  They've 
been  accustomed  to  folly,  persiflage,  that  abortion  the 
masculine  hero,  and  justifications  of  their  vices.     They 


8  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

like  caricatures  of  themselves.  They  like  photographs. 
They  like  illuminated  texts.  They  decorate  their 
minds  just  as  they  do  their  homes.  You  come  to  them 
out  of  the  desert,  all  locusts  and  wild  honey,  crying  out 
about  beauty.  These  people  won't  stand  it.  They  are 
the  people  in  Erith's  Derby  Day.  Worse.  They  think 
they  aren't." 

"  I'm  sorry  about  Ealcmpin,"  said  Koger.  "  He's  a 
good  fellow.     I  shall  lose  him  a  lot  of  money." 

"  Falempin's  a  Frenchman.  He  would  rather  pro- 
duce a  work  of  art  than  pass  his  days,  as  he  calls  it, 
selling  ^  wash  for  the  peegs.'  What  is  four  thousand  to 
a  theatre  manager?  A  quarter's  rent.  And  what  is 
a  quarter's  rent  to  anybody  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Roger,  "  it's  a  good  deal  to  me.  Let's 
go  round  the  house  and  hear  what  they  say." 

They  thrust  their  cigarettes  into  ash-trays,  and  passed 
through  the  stalls  to  the  foyer.  The  foyer  of  the  King's 
was  large.  The  decorations  of  mirrors,  gilt,  marble,  and 
red  velvet,  gave  it  that  look  of  the  hotel  which  art's 
temples  seldom  lack  in  this  country.  It  is  a  concession 
to  the  taste  of  the  patrons ;  you  see  it  in  theatres  and 
in  picture  galleries,  wherever  vulgarity  has  her  looking- 
glasses.  There  were  many  people  gathered  there. 
Half  a  dozen  minor  critics  stood  together  comparing 
notes,  deciding,  as  outsiders  think,  what  it  would  be 
safe  to  say.  Roger  noticed  among  them  a  short,  burly, 
shaggA^-haired  man,   who  wore  a  turued-doA\Ti  collar. 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  9 

He  did  not  know  the  man;  but  be  knew  at  once,  from 
his  appearance,  that  he  was  a  critic,  and  a  person  of  no 
distinction.  He  was  about  to  look  elsewhere,  when  he 
saw,  with  a  flush  of  anger,  that  the  little  burly  man  had 
paused  in  his  speech,  with  his  cigarette  dropped  from 
his  mouth,  to  watch  them  narrowly,  in  the  covert  man- 
ner of  the  ill-bred  and  malignant.  Roger  saw  him  give 
a  faint  nudge  with  his  elbow  to  the  man  nearest  to  him. 
The  man  turned  to  look ;  three  of  the  others  turned  to 
look ;  the  little  man's  lips  moved  in  a  muttered  explana- 
tion. The  group  stared.  Roger,  who  resented  their 
impertinence,  stared  back  so  pointedly  that  their  eyes 
fell.  O'Neill's  hands  twitched.  Roger  became  con- 
scious that  this  was  one  of  O'Neill's  feuds.  They 
walked  together  past  the  group,  with  indifferent  faces. 
As  they  passed,  the  little  man,  still  staring,  remarked, 
"  One  of  that  school."  They  heard  his  feet  move  round 
so  that  he  might  stare  after  them.  O'Neill  turned  to 
Roger. 

"  Do  you  know  who  that  is  ?  '^ 

"  No." 

"That's  O'Donnell,  of  The  Box  Office.  He's  the 
man  who  did  for  poor  Wentworth's  thing.  I  called 
him  out  in  Paris.     He  wouldn't  come." 

"Really,  John?" 

"  Oh,  you're  too  young ;  you  don't  remember.  He 
wrote  everywhere.  He  wrote  a  vile  tract  called  Drama 
and  Decency.     He  nearly  got  Wentworth  prosecuted." 


10  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

"I've  heard  of  that!     So  O'Donnell  wrote  that?" 

"  He  did." 

"  Who  are  the  others  ?  " 

"  Obscure  dailies  and  illustrateds." 

A  little  grey  man,  with  nervous  eyes,  came  up  to 
Roger,  claiming  acquaintance  on  the  strength  of  one 
previous  meeting.  He  began  to  talk  to  Roger  with  the 
easy  patronage  of  one  who,  though  impotent  in  art  him- 
self, and  without  a  divine  idea  in  him,  has  the  taste  of 
his  society,  its  gossip,  its  critical  cant,  and  an  acquaint- 
ance with  some  of  its  minor  bards. 

"  You  mustn't  be  discouraged,"  he  said,  with  implied 
intellectual  superiority ;  "  I  hear  you  have  quite  a  little 
following.  How  do  you  like  the  acting?  I  don't  like 
Miss  Hanlon's  acting  myself.  Did  you  choose  her  ?  " 
As  he  spoke  his  eyes  wandered  over  O'Neill,  who  stood 
apart,  with  his  back  half  turned  to  them.  It  was  evi- 
dent that  he  knew  O'Neill  by  sight,  and  wished  to  be  in- 
troduced to  him.  Roger  remembered  how  this  man  had 
called  O'Neill  a  charlatan.  An  insult  rose  to  his  lips. 
Who  was  this  fumbling  little  City  man,  with  his  Surrey 
villa  and  collection  of  Meryon  etchings,  to  patronise, 
and  condemn,  and  to  bid  him  not  to  be  discouraged? 

"  Yes,"  he  said  coldly.  "  I  wrote  the  play  for  her. 
She's  the  only  tragic  actress  you've  had  here  since  Miss 
Cushman." 

The  little  City  man  smiled,  apparently  by  elongating 
his  eyes.     He  laid  up,  for  a  future  dinner  table,  a  con- 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  11 

demnation  of  this  young  dramatist,  as  too  "  opinion- 
ated," too  "crude." 

"  Yes  ?  "  he  answered.  "  By  the  way  —  my  daugh- 
ter is  here ;  she  wants  so  much  to  talk  to  you  about  the 
play.     Will  you  come  ?  " 

Roger  had  met  this  daughter  once  before.  He  saw 
her  now,  an  ansemic  girl,  in  a  Liberty  dress,  standing 
with  her  nose  in  the  air,  amid  a  mob  of  first-nighters. 
She,  too,  wished  to  patronise  him  and  to  criticise  the 
oracle.  The  superiority  of  a  girl  of  nineteen  was  more 
than  he  could  stand. 

"  Thanks,"  he  said.  "  Afterwards,  perhaps.  I  must 
be  off  now  with  my  friend." 

He  gave  a  hurried  nod,  caught  O'Neill's  arm,  and 
fled.  Two  men  collided  in  his  path  and  exchanged 
criticism  with  each  other. 

"  Hullo,  old  man,"  said  one ;  "  what  do  you  think 
of  it?" 

"  I  call  it  a  German  farce." 

"  Yes ;  rather  colourless.     It  opened  well." 

Further  on,  a  tall,  pale,  fat  woman,  with  a  flagging 
jowl,  talked  loudly  to  two  lesser  women. 

"  I  call  it  simply  disgusting.  I  wonder  such  a  piece 
should  be  allowed." 

"  I  wouldn't  mind  its  being  disgusting  so  much,"  said 
one  of  her  friends ;  "  but  what  I  can't  stand  is  that  it  is 
so  uninteresting.  There's  no  meaning.  It  doesn't 
mean  anything.     It  has  no  criticism  of  life." 


12  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

"  They  say  he's  killing  himself  with  chloral,"  said  the 
third  woman. 

At  the  entrance  to  the  smoke-room,  they  were  stopped 
by  the  crowd.  A  lady  with  fine  eyes  fanned  herself 
vigorously  on  the  arm  of  her  escort. 

"  It's  very  interestin',"  she  said ;  "  but,  of  course,  it 
isn't  a  play." 

"  !^«^o.  It's  not  a  play,"  said  her  friend.  After  a 
pause,  he  defined  his  critical  position.  "  Y'know,  I 
don't  believe  in  all  this  talk  about  Ibsen  and  that.  I 
like  a  play  to  be  a  play." 

The  smoke-room  was  full  of  men  with  cigarettes. 
I^early  all  had  a  look  of  the  theatre  about  them,  some- 
thing clean-shaven,  something  in  the  eye,  in  the  fatness 
of  the  lower  jaw,  and  in  the  general  exaggeration  of  the 
bearing.  Something  loud  and  unreal.  The  pretty 
girls  at  the  bar  were  busy,  expending  the  same  smile, 
and  the  same  charm  of  manner,  on  each  customer,  and 
dismissing  him,  when  served,  with  an  indifference  which 
was  like  erasure.  The  friends  lighted  fresh  cigarettes 
and  shared  a  bottle  of  Perrier  water.  The  pretty, 
weary-faced  waitress  looked  at  Roger  intently,  with  in- 
terested sympathy.  She  had  seen  the  dress-rehearsal, 
she  was  one  of  his  admirers. 

Matches  scratched  and  spluttered;  soda-water  bub- 
bled into  spirits;  the  cork  extractors  squeaked  and 
thumped,  with  a  noise  of  fizzing.  A  pale,  white-haired 
man,  with  an  amber  cigarette-holder  nine  inches  long, 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  13 

evidently  his  only  claim  to  distinction,  held  a  glass  at 
an  angle,  dispensing  criticism. 

"  It's  all  damned  tommy-rot,"  he  said.  "  All  this 
tosh  these  young  fellers  write.  It's  what  I  call  German 
measles.  Now  we've  got  a  drama.  You  may  say  what 
you  like  about  these  Scandinavian  people,  and  Haupt- 
mann,  and  what's  the  name  of  the  Erench  feller,  who 
wrote  the  book  about  wasps  ?  They're  all.  You  know 
what  I  mean.  Every  one  of  them.  Like  the  pre- 
Raphaelites  w^ere;  but  put  them  beside  our  English 
dramatists ;  where  are  they  ?  " 

Some  one  with  an  Irish  voice  maintained  in  a  lull, 
rather  brilliantly,  that  Shakespeare  had  no  intellect, 
but  that  Coriolanus  showed  a  genuine  feeling  for  the 
stage. 

A  friend  without  definite  contradiction  offered,  in 
amendment,  that:  "  None  of  the  Elizabethans  were  any 
good  at  all ;  Coriolanus  was  a  Latin  exercise.  English 
drama  dated  from  1893." 

A  third  put  in  a  word  for  Romeo  and  Juliet.  "  Of 
course,  in  all  his  serious  work,  Shakespeare  is  a  most 
irritating  writer.  But  in  Romeo  and  Juliet  he  is  less 
irritating  than  usual.     I  like  the  Tomb  scene." 

The  Irish  voice  replied  that  the  English  had  the 
ballad  instinct,  and  liked  those  stories  w^hich  would  be 
tolerable  in  a  ballad ;  but  that  intellectual  eminence 
was  sho^vn  by  form,  not  by  an  emotional  condition. 
This  led  to  the  obvious  English  retort  that  form  was 


14  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

nothing,  as  long  as  the  thought  was  all  right ;  and  that 
anyway  our  construction  was  better  than  the  French. 
The  talk  closed  in  on  the  discussion,  shutting  it  out  with 
babble;  nothing  more  was  heard. 

The  two  friends,  sipping  Perrier  water,  were  sensible 
of  hostility  in  the  house,  without  hearing  definite 
charges.  An  electric  bell  whirred  overhead.  Glasses 
were  hurriedly  put  down ;  cigarettes  were  dropped  into 
the  pots  of  evergreens.  The  tide  set  back  towards  the 
stalls.  As  they  paused  to  let  a  lady  precede  them  down 
a  gangway,  they  heard  her  pass  judgment  to  a  friend. 

"  Of  course,  it  may  be  very  clever ;  but  what  I  mean 
is  that  it's  not  amusing.     It's  not  like  a  play." 

A  clear  feminine  voice  dropped  a  final  shot  in  a  hush. 
"  Oh,  I  think  it's  tremendously  second-rate ;  like  all  his 
books.  I  think  he  must  be  a  most  intolerable  young 
man.     I  know  some  friends  of  his." 

Wondering  which  friends  they  were,  Roger  Naldrett 
took  his  seat  in  his  box  an  instant  before  the  curtain 
rose. 

Eour  minutes  later,  when  the  house  found  that  the 
cap  fitted,  a  line  was  hissed  loudly.  It  passed,  the  ac- 
tors rallied,  Miss  Hanlon's  acting  gathered  intensity. 
As  the  emotional  crisis  of  the  act  approached,  she 
seemed  to  be  taking  hold  of  the  audience.  The  beauty 
of  the  play  even  moved  the  author  a  little.  Then,  at  her 
finest  moment,  in  a  pause,  the  prelude  to  her  great  ap- 
peal, a  coarse  female  voice,  without  natural  beauty,  and 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  15 

impeded  rather  than  helped,  artificially,  by  a  segment 
of  apple  newly-bitten,  called  ironically,  "  Ow,  chyce 
me,"  from  somewhere  far  above.  The  temper  of  the 
house  as  a  whole  was  probably  against  the  voice;  but 
collective  attention  is  fickle.  There  was  a  second  of 
hesitation,  during  which,  though  the  play  went  on,  the 
audience  wondered  whether  they  should  laugh,  follow- 
ing the  titterers,  or  say  "  Sh  "  vigorously  in  opposition 
to  them.  A  big  man  in  the  stalls  decided  them,  by  let- 
ting his  mirth,  decently  checked  during  the  instant,  ex- 
plode, much  as  an  expanded  bladder  will  explode  when 
smitten  with  a  blunt  instrument. 

"  Ow,  Charlie !  "  cried  the  voice  again.  Everybody 
laughed.  The  big  man,  confirmed  in  what  had  at  first 
alarmed  him,  roared  like  a  bull.  When  the  laughter 
ended,  the  play  was  lost.  No  acting  in  the  world  could 
have  saved  it. 

For  a  moment  it  went  on;  but  the  wits  had  been 
encouraged  by  their  success.  A  few  mild  young  men, 
greatly  daring,  bashfully  addressed  questions  to  the 
stage  in  self-conscious  voices.  Whistles  sounded  sud- 
denly in  shrill  bursts.  Somebody  hissed  in  the  stalls. 
A  line  reflecting  on  England's  foreign  policy,  or  seem- 
ing to  do  so,  for  there  is  nothing  topical  in  good  litera- 
ture, raised  shouts  of  "  Yah,"  and  "  Pro-Boer,"  phrases 
still  shouted  at  advanced  thinkers  in  moments  of  popu- 
lar pride.  At  the  most  poignant  moment  of  the  tragedy 
the  gallery  shouted  "  Boo  "  in  sheer  anger.     The  stalls. 


16  MULTITUDE  AE'D  SOLITUDE 

excited  by  the  noise,  looked  round,  and  up,  smiling. 
Songsters  began  one  of  the  vile  songs  of  the  music-halls, 
debased  in  its  words,  its  rhythms,  and  its  tune.  Their 
feet  beat  time  to  it.  The  booing  made  a  monotony  as 
of  tom-toms;  whistles  and  cat-calls  sounded,  like  wild- 
birds  flying  across  the  darkness.  People  got  up  blun- 
deringly to  leave  the  theatre,  treading  on  other  peo- 
ple's toes,  stumbling  over  their  knees,  with  oaths  in 
their  hearts,  and  apologies  on  their  lips.  The  play  had 
come  to  an  end.  The  cast  waited  for  the  noise  to  cease. 
Miss  Hanlon,  the  sword  at  her  throat,  stood  self-pos- 
sessed, ready  with  her  line  and  gesture,  only  waiting  for 
quiet.  Two  of  the  actors  talked  to  each  other,  looking 
straight  across  the  stage  at  the  dim  mob  before  them. 
Roger  could  see  their  lips  move.  He  imagined  the 
cynical  slangy  talk  passing  between  them.  He  recog- 
nised Miss  Hanlon's  sister  standing  in  one  of  the  boxes 
on  the  other  side. 

The  noise  grew  louder.  John  O'lTeill,  leaving  his 
seat,  came  over  to  him  and  shouted  in  his  ear. 
"  You're  having  a  fine  row,"  he  shouted. 

Roger  nodded  back  to  John  in  the  darkness.  "  Yes, 
yes,"  he  said.  He  was  wondering  why  he  didn't  care 
more  deeply  at  this  wreck  of  his  work.  He  did  not 
care.  The  yelling  mob  disgusted  him ;  but  not  more 
than  any  other  yelling  mob.  He  wished  that  it  had 
but  one  face,  so  that  he  might  spit  in  it,  and  smite  it, 
to  avenge  brave  Miss  Hanlon,  the  genius  cried  down 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  17 

by  the  rabble,  who  still  waited,  with  the  sobs  choking 
her.  Otherwise,  he  did  not  care  two  straws.  He  be- 
lieved in  his  work.  Beauty  was  worth  following  what- 
ever the  dull  ass  thought.  He  sat  on  the  edge  of  the 
box,  and  stared  do-\vn  at  his  enemies,  "  the  peegs."  A 
rowdy  in  the  stalls,  drawing  a  bow  at  a  venture,  shouted 
"  Author."  At  that  instant  the  curtain  came  do\^m,  and 
the  lights  went  up.  "  Author,"  the  house  shouted. 
"  Yah.  Author.  Boo."  Women  paused  in  the  put- 
ting on  of  their  opera-cloaks  to  level  glasses  at  him. 
He  saw  a  dozen  such.  He  saw  the  men  staring.  He 
heard  one  man,  one  solitary  friend,  who  strove  to  clap, 
abruptly  told  to  "  chuck  it."  "  Author,"  came  the 
shout.     "  Yah.     Boo.     Author.     Gow  'o^vm." 

He  stood  up  to  look  at  his  enemies.  One  man,  a 
critic,  was  clapping  him,  an  act  of  courage  in  such  a 
house.  The  rest  were  enjoying  the  row,  or  helping  it, 
or  hurriedly  leaving  with  timid  women.  Those  who 
jeered,  jeered  mostly  at  John  O'lSTeill,  who  looked  liker 
an  author  than  his  friend  (i.e.  his  hair  was  longer).' 

"  This  is  nearly  martyrdom,"  said  John.  "  Your 
work  must  be  better  than  I  thought." 

Eoger  laughed.  The  people,  seeing  the  laughter, 
yelled  in  frenzy.  Falcmpin  came  from  behind  the  cur- 
tain. He  looked  at  the  house  indifferently,  stroking  his 
white  beard,  as  though  debating  over  a  supper  menu. 
He  glanced  absently  at  his  watch,  and  tapped  in  a 
bored  manner  with  his  foot.     He  was  trying  to  decide 


18  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

whether  he  should  insult  the  "  peegs,"  and  gloriously 
end  his  career  as  a  theatre  manager.  Fear  lest  they 
should  misunderstand  his  insult,  and  perhaps  take  it 
as  a  compliment,  restrained  him  in  the  end,  even  more 
than  the  thought  of  what  his  wife  would  say.  He 
waited  for  a  lull  in  the  uproar  to  remark  coolly  that  the 
play  would  not  go  on.  After  a  pause,  he  told  the 
orchestra  to  play  "  God  save  the  King  "  with  excessive 
fervour,  for  a  long  time;  which  they  did,  grinning.  A 
few  policemen  in  the  pit  and  gallery  directed  the  re- 
ligious spirit,  thus  roused,  into  peaceful  works.  The 
hooters  began  to  pass  out  of  the  theatre,  laughing  and 
yelling;  three  or  four  young  men,  linking  arms,  stood 
across  an  exit,  barring  the  passage  to  women.  One  of 
them,  being  struck  in  the  face,  showed  fight,  and  was 
violently  flung  forth.  The  others,  aiding  their  leader, 
fought  all  down  the  stairs  from  the  gallery,  hindered  by 
the  escaping  crowd.  They  suffered  in  the  passage. 
One  of  them,  with  his  collar  torn  off,  scuffled  on  the 
sidewalk,  crying  out  that  he  wanted  his  "  'at."  He 
wasn't  going  without  his  "  'at." 

Meanwhile,  in  the  pit,  a  dozen  stalwarts  stood  by 
the  stalls  barrier,  waiting  to  boo  the  author  as  he  left 
his  box.  The  stalls  were  fast  emptying.  Two  attend- 
ants, still  carrying  programmes,  halted  under  Roger's 
box  to  say  that  it  was  a  "  shyme."  Roger,  at  the  mo- 
ment, was  writing  hurriedly  on  a  programme  a  rough 
draft  of  a  note  of  thanks,  praise,  and  sympathy  to  Miss 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  19 

Hanlon.  It  was  only  when  he  came  to  iTse  his  faculties 
that  he  found  them  scattered  by  the  agitations  of  the 
night.  The  words  which  rose  up  in  his  mind  were  like 
words  used  in  dreams;  they  seemed  to  he  meaningless. 
He  botched  together  a  crudity  after  a  long  beating  of  his 
brains;  but  the  result,  when  written  out  on  a  sheet  of 
notepaper,  found  in  the  ante-room,  was  feeble  enough. 

He  twisted  the  paper  swiftly  into  a  tricornt.  "  Come 
along,  John,"  he  said.  "  We'll  go  through  the  stage ; 
I  must  leave  this  for  Miss  Hanlon." 

They  passed  through  the  ante-room  into  a  chamber 
heaped  with  properties,  and  thence,  hy  a  swift  turn,  on 
to  the  stage,  where  a  few  hands  were  shifting  the  scenery 
and  talking  of  the  row.  On  the  draughty,  zig-zag,  con- 
crete stairs,  leading  to  the  dressing-rooms,  the  stage- 
manager  stood  talking  to  a  minor  actor  under  a  waver- 
ing gas-jet  enclosed  by  a  wire  mesh. 

"  Quite  a  little  trouble,  sir,"  he  said  to  Naldrett. 
"  Too  bad." 

''  They  didn't  seem  to  like  it,  did  they  ?  Which  is 
Miss  Hanlon's  room  ?  " 

"  In  number  three,  sir ;  but  there's  her  dresser,  if 
you've  a  note  for  her,  sir.  There's  some  ladies  with 
her." 

Outside  the  stage  door,  in  the  alley  leading  to  the 
street,  several  idlers  waited  idly  for  an  opportunity  for 
outrage.  In  the  street  itself  a  crowd  had  gathered  at 
the  theatre  entrance.     A  mob  of  vacant  faces  stood 


20  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

under  the  light,  staring  at  the  doors.  They  stared 
without  noise  and  without  intelligence,  under  the  spell 
of  that  mesmerism  which  binds  common  intellects  so 
easily.  Policemen  moved  through  the  mob,  moving 
little  parts  of  it,  more  by  example  than  by  precept. 
The  starers  moved  because  others  moved.  In  the  road 
was  a  glare  of  cab  lights.  Light  gleamed  on  harness, 
on  the  satin  of  cloaks,  on  the  hats  of  footmen. 

"  When  did  the  age  of  polish  begin  ?  "  said  Roger. 

"  When  the  age  of  gilt  ended,"  said  John.  "  It's  a 
base  age;  you  can't  even  be  a  decent  corpse  without 
polish  on  your  coffin.  Here  we  are  at  the  Masquers; 
shall  we  sup  here,  or  at  the  Petits  Soupers  ? " 


II 

What,  do  we  nod?   Sound  music,  and  let  us  startle  our  spirits  .  .  . 
Ay,  this  has  waked  us.  The  Poetaster. 

THE  act  of  sitting  to  table  changed  John's  mood. 
The  lightness  and  gaiety  passed  from  him. 
It  seemed  to  Roger  that  he  grew  visibly  very 
old  and  haggard,  as  the  merry  mood,  stimulated  by  the 
excitement  of  the  theatre,  faded  away.  At  times,  dur- 
ing supper,  John  gave  his  friend  the  impression  that 
the  spiritual  John  was  on  a  journey,  or  withdrawn  into 
another  world.  He  spoke  little,  chiefly  in  monosyl- 
lables, making  no  allusion  to  the  play.  He  was  be- 
come a  shell,  almost  an  unreal  person.  He  gave  no 
sign  of  possessing  that  intellectual  energy  which  made 
his  talk  so  attractive  to  young  men  interested  in  the 
arts.  Roger's  fancy  suggested  that  John  was  a  kind  of 
John  the  Baptist,  a  torch-bearer,  sent  to  set  other  peo- 
ple on  fire,  but  without  real  fire  of  his  own.  He  felt 
that  John  had  lighted  an  entire  city,  by  some  obscure 
heap  of  shavings  in  a  suburb,  and  had  now  dashed  out 
his  torch,  so  that  the  night  hid  him.  He  realised  how 
little  he  knew  this  man,   intimate  as  they  had  been. 

Nobody    knew    him.     ITobody    knew    what    he    was. 

21 


22  MULTITUDE  A:N'D  SOLITUDE 

There  were  some  who  held  that  John  was  the  Wander- 
ing Jew,  others  that  he  was  a  Nihilist,  a  Carlist,  a 
Balmacedist,  a  Jacohite,  the  heir  to  France,  King 
Arthur,  anti-Christ,  or  Parnell.  All  had  felt  the  mys- 
tery, but  none  had  solved  it.  Here  was  this  strange, 
enigmatic,  brilliant  man,  an  influence  in  art,  in  many 
arts,  though  he  practised  none  with  supreme  devotion. 
He  had  wandered  over  most  of  the  world ;  he  spoke 
many  tongues;  he  had  friends  in  strange  Asian  cities, 
in  Western  mining  towns,  in  rubber  camps,  in  ships,  in 
senates.  No  one  had  ever  received  a  letter  from  him. 
But  his  rooms  were  always  thronged  with  outlandish 
guests  from  all  parts  of  the  world.  Looking  at  him 
across  the  table,  Roger  felt  small  suddenly,  as  though 
John  really  were  a  spirit  now  suddenly  lapsing  back 
into  the  night,  after  a  spectral  moment  of  glowing.  He 
felt  the  man's  extraordinary  personality,  and  his  own 
terrible  pettiness  in  apprehending  so  little  of  it.  Some- 
thing was  wrong  with  him,  something  was  the  matter 
with  the  night.  Or  had  the  whole  unreal  evening  been 
a  dream  ?  Or  were  they  all  dead,  and  was  this  heaven 
or  hell  ?  for  life  seemed  charged  with  all  manner  of 
new  realities.  He  had  never  felt  like  this  before. 
Something  was  changing  in  his  brain.  He  was  realis- 
ing his  own  spiritual  advances,  in  one  of  those  rare 
moments  in  which  one  apprehends  truth.  It  occurred 
to  him,  with  a  sudden  impulse  to  violent  laughter,  that 
John,  sitting  back  in  his  chair,  mesmerised  by  the  fan- 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  23 

tasj  of  the  smoke  from  his  cigarette,  was  also  in  a  mood 
of  spiritual  crisis,  attaining  long-desired  peace. 

John  watched  his  cigarette  till  the  ash  fell,  when  the 
truth  seemed  fully  attained,  the  soul's  step  upward  made 
good.  He  glanced  up  at  Roger  like  a  man  just  waking 
from  a  dream,  like  a  man,  long  puzzled,  at  last  made 
certain. 

"  What  are  your  plans  ? "  he  asked  suddenly. 
"  You'll  go  on  writing  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  shall  go  on  writing,"  Roger  answered. 
He  was  puzzled  by  the  abruptness  and  detachment  of 
John's  manner.  "  I've  got  that  Louis  Quatorze  play 
finished.  I  shall  start  on  another  in  a  day  or  two. 
I've  a  novel  half  finished ;  I  told  you  the  fable,  I 
think.  I've  not  done  much  since  the  rehearsals  be- 
gan." 

"  You'll  have  a  great  success  some  day,"  said  John, 
half  to  himself.  "  You'll  be  all  that  Wentworth 
might  have  been  had  he  lived.  You  know  Wentworth's 
work?" 

"  Yes,"  Roger  said.  The  question  surprised  him. 
John  was  speaking  to  him  as  though  he  were  a  stranger. 
They  had  discussed  Wentworth's  work  a  score  of  times. 
"  What  sort  of  man  was  he  ?  "  he  added. 

"  A  great  genius  in  himself.  In  his  work  I  don't 
think  he  was  that,  though  of  course  he  did  wonderful 
things.  You  told  me  once  that  you  were  in  love.  How 
does  that  go  on  ?  " 


24  MULTITUDE  A:N^D  SOLITUDE 

"  I  see  her  sometimes.  I  can't  ask  her  to  marry  me. 
My  prospects  —  well  —  I  live  hy  writing." 

"  She  is  rich,  I  think  you  said  ?  She  lives  in  Ire- 
land?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Love  is  the  devil !  "  said  John  abruptly.  "  I'm 
going  abroad  to-morrow,  on  account  of  my  lungs.  I 
was  wondering  if  I  should  see  you  settled  before  I 
left." 

"  Good  Lord !     You  never  told  me." 

"  "Wentworth  used  to  say  that,  socially,  the  body  does 
not  exist.  I  thought  of  telling  you.  But  there,  there 
were  other  reasons.  Things  which  I  can't  tell  you 
about." 

"  But  where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  To  a  place  in  South  Spain.  I  can't  tell  you  more. 
Listen.  I  believe  that  I  am  on  the  verge  of  discovering 
a  great  secret.  It  is  an  amazing  thing ;  I've  been  work- 
ing at  it  with  Centeno,  that  young  Spaniard  who  comes 
to  my  rooms.  I  am  going  to  Spain  so  that  I  may  work 
with  him  in  a  warm  climate." 

He  rose  from  his  seat  excited  by  the  thought  of  the 
discovery.  He  gulped  the  last  of  his  wine,  as  though 
in  a  sudden  fever  to  be  at  work.  He  flung  on  hat  and 
coat  in  the  same  feverish  preoccupation. 

Roger,  who  had  seen  him  thus  before,  knew  that  he 
was  forgotten.  His  friend  was  already  in  those  secret 
rooms  at  the  top  of  a  house  in  Queen  Square.     His 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  25 

spirit  was  there,  bowed  over  the  work  with  the  Spanish 
scholar;  the  earthly  part  of  him  was  a  parcel  left  he- 
hind  in  a  restaurant  to  follow  as  it  might.  Words  from 
nowhere  floated  into  Roger's  mind.  It  was  as  though 
some  of  John's  attendant  spirits  had  whispered  to  him : 
"  Your  friend  is  busy  with  some  strange  doctrine  of  the 
soul,"  said  the  whisperer.  "  This  world  does  not  exist 
for  him.  You  are  nothing  to  him ;  you  are  only  a  lit- 
tle part  of  the  eternal,  dragging  a  caddis-worm's  house 
of  greeds.     He  is  set  free." 

He  looked  up  quickly  to  see  John  deep  in  thought, 
with  a  waiter,  standing  beside  him,  offering  an  unno- 
ticed bill.  Eoger  paid  the  bill.  In  another  minute  they 
were  standing  in  the  glare  of  the  Circus,  amid  tumult 
and  harsh  light.  Something  in  the  unrhythmical  riot 
broke  the  dreamer's  mood.  He  looked  at  Roger  ab- 
sently, as  though  remembering  an  event  in  a  past  life. 
A  fit  of  coughing  shook  him,  and  left  him  trembling. 

"  Your  play  is  a  fine  thing,"  he  said  weakly,  as  he 
hailed  a  hansom.  "  You  are  all  right.  I  can't  ask  you 
to  come  round  to  my  rooms;  for  I  am  working  there 
with  Centeno.  I  work  there  far  into  the  night,  and  I 
am  in  rather  a  mess  with  packing  to-night." 

He  seemed  to  pass  into  his  reverie  again ;  for  he  did 
not  notice  Roger's  hand.  He  was  muttering  to  himself, 
"  This  is  an  unreal  world ;  this  is  an  unreal  world,"  be- 
tween gTilps  of  cigarette  smoke.  A  sudden  burst  of 
energy  made  him  enter  the  cab.     Roger  gave  the  cab- 


26  MULTITUDE  AiN'D  SOLITUDE 

man  the  address,  and  closed  the  cab's  aprons.  His 
friend  lifted  a  hand  languidly  and  sank  back  into  the 
gloom.  The  last  that  Roger  saw  of  him  was  a  white, 
immobile  mask  of  a  face,  rising  up  from  the  black 
pointed  beard,  which  looked  so  like  the  beard  of  an 
Assyrian  king.  The  cab  was  hidden  from  sight  among 
a  medley  of  vehicles  before  Roger  realised  that  his 
friend  was  gone. 

It  struck  Roger  then  that  the  evening  had  brought 
him  very  near  to  romance.  He  had  seen  his  soul's  work 
shouted  down  by  the  minotaur.  Now  the  man  whom 
he  had  worshipped  was  going  away  to  die.  More  than 
the  pain  of  losing  the  friend  was  the  sharpness  of  jeal- 
ousy; for  why  could  not  he,  instead  of  Centeno,  help 
that  spirit  in  the  last  transmutation,  in  the  last  glory, 
when  the  cracking  brain  cell  let  in  heaven?  He  felt 
himself  judged,  and  set  aside.  Eor  an  instant  an  im- 
pulse moved  him  to  creep  in  upon  the  secret,  up  the 
stairs,  through  the  corridor  piled  with  books,  to  the 
dark  room,  hung  with  green,  where  the  work  went 
forward.  He  longed  to  surprise  those  conspirators  over 
their  secret  of  the  soul,  and  to  be  initiated  into  the  mys- 
tery, even  at  the  sword's  point.  He  put  this  thought 
from  him;  but  the  shock  of  John's  parting  brought  it 
back  again.  His  spirit  seemed  to  flounder  in  him. 
He  felt  stunned  and  staggered. 

He  crossed  Shaftesbury  Avenue  wondering  how  life 
was  to  go  on  with  no  O'Neill.     He  had  no  thought  for 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  27 

Lis  play's  failure;  this  sorrow  filled  his  nature.  He 
paused  for  an  instant  on  the  western  sidewalk  of  the 
avenue  so  that  he  might  light  a  cigarette.  As  he  bent 
over  the  flame,  some  one  struck  him  violently  between 
the  shoulders.  He  turned  swiftly,  full  of  anger,  to  con- 
front a  half-drunken  man  whose  face  had  the  peculiar 
bloated  shapelessness  of  the  London  sot.  The  man  un- 
justly claimed,  with  many  filthy  words,  that  Roger  had 
jostled  against  him,  and  that  he  was  going  to  —  well, 
show  him  different.  A  little  crowd  gathered,  expect- 
ing a  fight.  TTlien  the  man's  language  was  at  its  filthi- 
est, a  policeman  interfered,  bidding  the  drunkard  go 
home  quietly.     The  man  asked  how  any  one  could  go 

home  quietly  with toffs  running  into  him.     The 

policeman  turned  to  Eoger. 

Roger  was  sickened  and  disgusted.  Charging  the 
man,  and  causing  him  to  be  imprisoned  or  fined,  was 
not  to  be  thought  of.  The  man  was  not  sober;  he 
had  passed  into  a  momentary  fury  of  passion,  and  had 
butted  blindly  like  an  enraged  bull.  The  mistake,  and 
the  foul  talk,  and  the  sudden  attentions  of  the  crowd  at 
such  a  moment  when  he  hoped  to  be  alone,  gave  Roger 
a  feeling  of  helpless  hatred  of  himself  and  of  modern 
life.  He  turned  abruptly.  His  enemy  dogged  him  for 
a  few  steps,  dropping  filthy  names,  one  by  one,  while 
some  of  the  crowd  followed,  hoping  that  there  would  be 
an  assault.  The  pursuit  ended  with  a  snarl.  The 
drunkard  turned  diagonally  across  the  street,  so  nearly 


28  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

under  two  motor-cabs  that  the  crowd  lost  interest  in 
Eoger  from  that  instant. 

Eoger  remembered  that  a  few  yards  away  there  was 
a  German  restaurant,  where  some  of  his  friends  used  to 
play  dominoes  over  steins  of  lager.  He  entered  the 
restaurant,  hoping  to  meet  some  one;  hoping,  too,  that 
the  kindly  foreign  feeling  which  made  the  place  restful 
and  delightful  might  help  him  to  forget  his  sorrow  and 
distaste  for  life.  He  ordered  coffee  and  cognac,  and  sat 
there,  sorrowfully  smoking,  scanning  those  who  entered, 
but  seeing  no  friend  among  them. 

As  he  smoked  the  memories  of  the  evening  assailed 
him.  He  saw  his  work  hooted  from  the  stage,  and 
John  passing  from  his  life,  and  the  sot's  bloated  mouth 
babbling  filth  at  him.  His  nerves  were  all  shaken  to 
pieces  by  the  emotional  strain  of  the  past  fortnight. 
He  was  in  a  child's  mood;  the  mood  of  the  homesick 
boy  at  school.  He  was  as  dangerously  near  hysteria  as 
the  drunkard.  He  longed  to  be  over  in  Ireland,  in  the 
house  of  that  beautiful  woman  whom  he  loved,  to  be  in 
the  presence  of  calm  and  tenderness  and  noble  thought, 
away  from  all  these  horrors  and  desolations.  The 
thought  of  Ottalie  Eawcett  calmed  him;  for  he  could 
not  think  of  that  beautiful  woman  and  of  himself  at 
the  same  time.  Memories  of  her  gave  his  mind  a  sweet, 
melancholy  food.  One  memory  especially,  of  the  beau- 
tiful lady,  in  her  beautiful,  early  Victorian  dress,  with 
great  hat,  grey  gauntlets,  and  old  pearl  earrings,  bend- 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  29 

ing  over  a  mass  of  white  roses  in  the  garden,  recurred 
again  and  again.  To  think  of  her  intently,  and  to  see 
her  very  clearly  in  a  mind  acutely  excited,  was  like  com- 
munion with  her.  Her  image  was  so  sharply  outlined 
in  his  heart  that  he  felt  an  exultation,  as  though  their 
hearts  were  flowing  into  each  other.  One  tingling 
thought  of  her  was  like  her  heart  against  his.  It  made 
him  sure  that  she  was  thinking  of  him  at  that  instant, 
perhaps  with  tenderness.  He  tried  to  imagine  her 
thoughts  of  him.  He  tried  to  imagine  himself  her, 
looking  out  under  that  great  hat,  through  those  lively 
eyes,  a  beautiful,  charming  woman,  exquisite,  guarded, 
and  infinitely  swift  of  tact.  It  ended  with  a  passion- 
ate longing  to  get  away  to  Ireland  to  see  her,  cost  what 
it  might.  His  heart  turned  to  her;  he  would  go  to 
her.     He  could  not  live  without  love. 

The  play  had  ended  before  ten  o'clock.  It  was  now 
half-past  eleven.  Eoger  paid  his  bill,  and  turned  into 
Shaftesbury  Avenue,  thinking  that  within  thirty-six 
hours  he  would  be  set  free.  This  dusty  tumult  would 
be  roaring  to  other  ears.  He  would  be  by  the  waters  of 
Moyle,  among  magical  glens,  knocking  at  his  love's 
door,  walking  with  her,  hearing  her  voice,  sitting  with 
her  over  the  turf  fire,  in  that  old  house  on  the  hills, 
looking  over  towards  Ailsa.  That  would  be  life  enough. 
It  would  give  him  strength  to  begin  again  after  his  fail- 
ure and  the  loss  of  his  friend.  His  mind  was  full  of 
her.     He  turned,  as  he  had  so  often  turned,  late  at 


30  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

night,  to  look  at  the  windows  of  the  little  upper  flat 
which  his  love  shared  with  her  friend  Agatha  Carew- 
Ker.  They  were  seldom  in  town  to  use  the  flat.  They 
came  there  for  flying  visits  generally  in  the  spring  and 
winter,  when  passing  through  London  to  the  Continent. 
It  was  a  tiny  flat  of  four  living-rooms,  high  up,  on  the 
south  side  of  Shaftesbury  Avenue;  a  strange  place  for 
two  ladies  to  have  chosen,  but  it  was  near  the  theatres 
and  shops.  As  Koger  walked  towards  it  he  recalled  the 
last  time  he  had  been  there,  seven  months  before.  He 
had  had  tea  alone  with  Ottalie,  one  misty  October  eve- 
ning. For  nearly  half  an  hour  they  were  alone  in  the 
flat,  sitting  together  by  the  flre  in  the  dusk,  talking 
intimately,  even  tenderly;  for  there  was  something 
magical  in  the  twilight,  and  the  companionship  was  too 
close,  during  that  rare  half-hour,  for  either  to  light  the 
lamp.  He  had  known  Ottalie  since  childhood;  but 
never  before  like  this.  Her  tenderness  and  charm  and 
grave  beauty  had  never  been  so  near  to  him.  Two  min- 
utes more  in  that  dusk  would  have  brought  him  to  her 
side.  He  would  have  taken  her  hands  in  his.  He 
would  have  asked  her  if  life  could  go  back  again,  after 
such  communion,  to  the  old  frank  comradeship.  Then 
Agatha  came  in,  with  her  hardness  and  bustle  and  sus- 
picion. The  spell  had  been  broken.  Agatha  rated 
them  for  sitting  in  the  dark.  When  he  lighted  the 
lamp,  he  was  conscious  of  Agatha's  sharp  critical  eye 
upon  him,  and  of  a  certain  reproachful  jealousy  in  her 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  31 

tone  towards  Ottalie.  There  were  little  hard  glances 
from  one  face  to  the  other;  and  then  some  ill-concealed 
feminine  manoeuvring  to  make  it  impossible  for  him  to 
stay  longer.  He  stayed  until  Agatha  becarne  pointed. 
That  was  the  last  time  he  had  seen  Ottalie.  He  had 
heard  from  her  from  time  to  time.  He  had  sent  her 
his  last  novel  and  his  book  of  tales.  She  had  sent  him 
a  silver  match-box  as  a  Christmas  present.  Agatha,  in 
a  postscript,  had  conveyed  her  "  love  "  to  him. 

He  paused  on  the  north  side  of  the  avenue  to  look 
at  the  flat  windows  high  up  on  the  opposite  side.  He 
was  startled  to  see  a  light  in  Ottalie's  bedroom,  a  long 
gleam  of  light  where  the  curtains  parted,  a  gleam 
dimmed  momentarily  by  some  one  passing.  Eor  five 
seconds  he  saw  the  light,  then  it  was  blown  out.  Some 
one  was  in  the  flat,  possibly  Ottalie  herself.  He  might, 
perhaps,  see  her  early  the  next  morning.  She  might  be 
there,  just  across  the  road.  She  might  have  been  with- 
in three  hundred  yards  of  him  for  this  last  miserable 
hour ;  but  it  was  strange  that  she  had  not  written  to  tell 
him  that  she  was  coming  to  tovm.  It  could  hardly  be 
Ottalie.  It  might  be  Agatha,  or  some  friend  to  whom 
they  had  lent  the  flat  for  the  season.  He  was  eager 
now  for  the  next  day  to  da^vn,  so  that  he  might  find  out. 
He  was  utterly  weary.  He  hailed  a  cab  and  drove  to 
his  rooms  in  Westminster.  The  cabman,  thinking  him 
an  easy  subject,  demanded  more  than  the  excess  fare 
given  to  him.     Roger  told  him  that  he  would  get  no 


32  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

more,  and  entered  the  house.  The  cabman,  becoming 
abusive,  climbed  down  and  battered  at  the  knocker,  till 
the  approach  of  a  policeman  warned  him  that  any  fur- 
ther attempts  might  lead  to  a  summons.  He  drove 
away  growling. 

Roger  lived  in  chambers  in  one  of  the  old  houses  of 
Westminster.  He  rented  a  little  panelled  sitting-room, 
a  bedroom,  also  panelled,  rather  larger,  and  a  third 
room  so  tiny  that  a  clothes-press  and  a  bath  almost  filled 
it.  He  lit  his  lamp  to  see  what  letters  had  come  for 
him.  There  were  five  or  six,  none  of  them  from  Ot- 
talie.  A  telegram  lay  on  the  table.  It  was  from  an 
evening  paper  asking  for  the  favour  of  an  interview 
early  the  next  morning.  The  row  at  the  theatre  was 
bearing  fruit.  He  opened  his  letters ;  but,  seeing  that 
they  were  not  amusing,  he  did  not  read  them.  He  went 
into  his  bedroom  to  undress.  On  the  mantelpiece  was 
a  rehearsal  call  card,  which  had  given  him  a  thrill  of 
pleasure  a  fortnight  before.  Now  it  seemed  to  grin  at 
him  with  a  devilish  inanimate  malice.  An  etched  por- 
trait of  O'Neill  looked  down  mournfully  from  the  wall. 
A  photograph  of  Ottalie  on  the  dressing-table  was  the 
last  thing  noticed  by  him  as  he  blew  out  the  lamp. 

In  the  next  house  a  member  of  Parliament  lived. 
His  wife  was  musical,  in  a  hard,  accomplished  way. 
She  sang  cleverly,  though  her  voice  was  not  good.  She 
sang  as  her  excellent  masters  had  taught  her  to  sing. 
She  had  profited  by  their  teaching  to  the  limits  of  her 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  33 

nature.  In  moments  of  emotion,  when  she  recognised 
her  shortcomingSj  she  quoted  to  herself  a  line  from  Abt 
Vogler,  "  On  the  earth  a  broken  arc,  in  the  heaven  a 
perfect  round."  She  was  an  irregular,  eccentric  lady, 
fond  of  late  hours.  This  night  some  wandering  devil 
caused  her  to  begin  to  play  at  midnight,  when  Roger, 
utterly  exhausted  by  the  strain  of  the  evening,  was  fall- 
ing to  a  merciful  sleep.  A  few  bars  was  enough  to 
waken  Roger.  The  wall  between  them  was  not  thick 
enough  to  dull  the  noise.  The  few  melancholy  bars 
gathered  volume.  She  began  to  sing  with  hard,  metal- 
lic, callousness,  with  disillusion  in  each  note.  Poor 
lady,  the  moment  was  beautiful  to  her.  She  could  not 
know  that  she,  in  her  moment  of  delight,  was  an  instru- 
ment of  the  malevolent  stars  next  door.  Roger  sat  up 
in  bed  with  a  few  impatient  words.  He  knew  the 
lady's  song ;  he  had  heard  Ottalie  sing  it.  Hearing  this 
other  lady  sing  it  was  instructive.  It  confirmed  him  in 
a  theory  held  by  him,  that  refinement  was  a  quality  of 
the  entire  personality;  that  delicacy  of  feeling,  beauty 
of  nature,  niceness  of  tact,  were  shown  in  the  least  move- 
ment, in  the  raising  of  a  hand,  in  the  head's  carriage,  in 
the  least  sound  of  the  voice.  Ottalie  sang  with  all  the 
beauty  of  her  character,  giving  to  each  note  an  in- 
describable rightness  of  value,  verbal  as  well  as  musical, 
conveying  to  her  hearers  a  sense  of  her  distinction  of 
soul,  a  sense  of  the  noble  living  of  dead  generations  of 
Fawcetts;  a  sense  of  style  and  race  and  personal  ex- 


34  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

quisiteness.  This  lady  sang  as  though  she  were  out  in 
a  hockey  field,  charging  the  ball  healthily,  in  short 
skirts,  among  many  gay  young  sprigs  from  the  barracks. 
She  sang  like  the  daughter  of  a  nouveau  riche.  Her 
song  was  a  brief  liaison  between  Leipzig  and  a  vulgar 
constitution. 

Two  minutes  of  her  song  put  all  thought  of  sleep  from 
Roger's  mind.  He  lit  his  lamp  and  searched  for  some 
cigarettes.  Something  prompted  him  to  take  down 
Wentworth's  Tragedy  of  Poppaea.  He  would  read  it 
over  until  the  lady's  muscles  tired.  He  lit  a  cigarette. 
Propping  himself  up  with  pillows  he  began  to  read, 
admiring  the  precise  firmness  of  the  rhythms,  and  that 
quality  in  the  style  which  was  all  fragrance  and  glim- 
mer, a  fine  bloom  of  beauty,  never  too  much,  which 
marked  the  artist.  The  choruses  moved  him  by  their 
inherent  music.  They  were  musical  because  the  man's 
mind,  though  sternly  muscular  and  manly,  was  full  of 
melody.  They  were  unlike  most  modern  verse,  which 
is  reckoned  musical  when  it  shows  some  mechanical  com- 
pliance with  a  pattern  of  music  already  in  the  popular 
ear.  Eoger,  as  a  writer  not  yet  formed,  was  curious  in 
all  things  which  showed  personal  distinction  and  striv- 
ing. This  exquisite  verse,  this  power  of  fine,  precise 
intellectual  conception,  was  reward  enough,  he  thought, 
for  the  misery  which  this  poet  had  suffered  from  his 
fellows.  Roger  wondered  how  many  ladies  like  the 
singer  on  the  other  side  of  the  wall  had  asked  poor 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  35 

Wentworth  to  their  "  At  Homes  "  for  any  but  a  vulgar 
reason.  He  remembered  how  Wentworth,  a  strict  mor- 
alist soured  by  a  life  of  suffering,  had  spoken  to  one 
lady.  "  You  will  buy  my  books  and  lay  them  on  your 
tables.  You  will  ask  me  to  dinner  to  amuse  yourself 
with  my  talk.  You  have  won  a  reputation  for  wit  by 
repeating  my  epigrams.  And  for  which  of  my  ideas  do 
you  care  two  straws,  for  which  would  you  sacrifice  one 
least  vanity,  for  which  would  you  outrage  one  conven- 
tion ?     I  will  come  to  your  '  At  Home.'  " 

The  cigarette  was  smoked  out.  The  lady,  having 
finished  some  four  songs,  now  toyed  with  a  little  Grieg, 
a  little  Bach,  a  little  Schvmiann,  like  a  delicate  butter- 
fly flying  by  the  finest  clockwork.  Roger,  who  was  now 
in  no  mood  for  sleep,  found  the  music  of  some  value  as 
an  accompaniment  to  Poppaea.  It  was  like  the  light 
and  excitement  of  a  theatre,  added  to  the  emotion  of 
the  poetry.  He  read  through  to  the  end  of  the  second 
act,  when  his  eyes  began  to  trouble  him.  Then  he  rose, 
hurriedly  dressed,  wrapped  himself  in  a  Chinese  robe, 
embroidered  with  green  silk  dragons,  and  passed 
through  his  sitting-room  window  on  to  the  balcony  above 
the  street.  It  was  a  narrow,  old-fashioned  balcony,  big 
enough  for  three  people,  if  the  people  were  fond  of  each 
other.  Structurally  it  was  a  part  of  the  balcony  of  the 
member's  house,  but  an  old  straw  trellis-work  divided 
the  two  tenancies  at  the  party  wall.  Roger  placed  a 
deck-chair  with  its  back  against  the  trellis,  which  shut 


36  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

off  the  member's  balcony  from  his.  He  was  sheltered 
from  above  by  a  green  verandah  canopy,  and  from  the 
street  by  another  trellis  about  five  feet  high.  He  would 
not  sleep  now,  until  four;  he  knew  his  symptoms  of 
old.  He  could  not  read.  It  was  useless  to  lie  tossing 
in  bed.  He  sat  in  the  deck-chair  mournfully  munching 
salted  almonds.  He  was  in  a  state  of  unnatural  nerv- 
ous excitement.  The  music  came  through  the  house 
delicately  to  him,  softened  by  two  walls,  one  of  them 
honestly  built  in  the  late  seventeenth  century.  He 
thought  that  John  O'lSTeill  would  be  distant  music  to 
him  henceforth.  Perhaps  the  dead  look  on  the  living 
souls  as  notes  in  a  music,  and  play  upon  them,  making 
harmony  or  discord,  according  to  the  power  of  their 
wills  and  the  quality  of  their  nature.  He  could  imag- 
ine John,  who  had  stricken  so  many  living  souls  to 
music,  playing  on  in  death,  not  hampered  by  the  in- 
difference of  any  one  note,  but  playing  upon  it  masterly, 
rousing  it  to  music,  by  striking  some  kindred  note, 
reaching  it  through  another,  as  perhaps  our  dead 
friends  can.  But  life  would  be  terrible  without  John. 
He  remembered  how  Lamb  walked  about  muttering 
"  Coleridge  is  dead."  A  great  spirit  never  expresses 
herself  perfectly.  She  needs  many  lesser  spirits  to 
catch  those  glittering  crumbs  and  fiery-flung  manna 
seeds.  When  the  bread  passes,  the  disciples  serve 
scraps  and  preach  bakery. 

He  finished  his  salted  almonds  regretfully,  remem- 


MULTITUDE  ANT>  SOLITUDE  37 

bering  that  he  was  out  of  olives.  He  lighted  another 
cigarette,  and  lay  there  smoking,  trying  to  get  calm. 
It  was  very  still  but  for  the  music ;  for  Davenant  Street 
was  as  quiet  as  Dean's  Yard.  The  windows  were  all 
blank  and  dark;  people  were  sleeping.  Big  Ben's 
noble  tone  told  the  quarters.  A  policeman  went  past 
softly,  feeling  at  the  doors.  Something  went  wrong  in 
the  street  lamp  a  few  yards  from  Roger's  perch.  It 
fluttered  as  though  some  great  moth  were  struggling  in 
the  flame.  It  died  do\vn  to  a  few  flagging  points  of 
light,  leaving  the  dark  street  even  darker.  Big  Ben, 
lifting  a  solemn  sweet  voice,  tolled  two,  with  noble  mel- 
ancholy, resigned  to  death,  but  hungry  for  the  beauty 
of  life,  like  the  spirit  of  Raleigh  speaking.  Ottalie  was 
asleep  now,  the  grey  eyes  shut,  the  sweet  face  lying 
trustful.  John  was  with  the  pale  young  Spaniard,  do- 
ing what?  in  the  room  high  aloft  there,  over  Queen 
Square.  London  was  about  to  take  its  hour  of  quiet. 
Only  the  poets,  the  scholars,  and  the  idlers  were  awake 
now.  In  a  little  while  the  May  dawn  would  begin. 
Even  now  it  was  tingeing  the  cherry  blossom  in  Aleppo. 
The  roses  of  Sarvistan  were  spilling  in  the  heat.  The 
blades  of  green  corn  by  Troy  gleamed  above  the  river 
as  the  wind  shook  them.  Tenedos  rose  up  black,  watch- 
ing the  channel,  now  showing  steel. 

Roger  lighted  another  cigarette  from  the  embers  of 
the  last.  It  was  too  quiet  to  strike  a  match.  The  still- 
ness gave  him  an  emotional  pleasure.     It  gave  him  a 


38  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

sense  of  power,  as  though  he  were  the  only  living  spirit 
in  the  midst  of  all  this  death.  He  was  sorry  when  the 
music  stopped,  for  it  had  made  the  stillness  more  im- 
pressive. If  his  thoughts  had  not  been  calmed  by  it, 
they  had  at  least  been  made  more  beautiful,  chaotic  as 
they  were.  The  bitterness  of  the  night  worked  less 
bitingly.  He  was  conscious  of  an  exaltation  of  the 
mind.  Up  there  in  the  quiet,  his  devotion  to  John,  his 
passion  for  Ottalie,  and  his  love  of  all  high  and  noble 
art,  seemed  co-ordinated  in  a  grand  scheme  in  which 
he  was  both  god  and  man.  Standing  up,  he  looked  over 
the  trellis  into  the  street,  deeply  moved.  He  was  here 
to  perfect  that  magnificent  work  of  art, —  himself. 
John,  who  had  pointed  the  way,  was  gone  now.  Ot- 
talie, who  had  inspired  him,  was  waiting  with  her 
crown ;  or  perhaps  only  showing  it  to  lure  him,  for  Na- 
ture, prodigal  of  dust  and  weed,  gives  true  beauty  spar- 
ingly. It  was  for  him  to  follow  that  lure  and  to  gather 
strength  to  seize  it.  The  world  was  a  little  dust  under 
his  feet.  In  his  soul  was  a  little  green  seed  bursting. 
It  would  grow  up  out  of  all  the  grime  and  muck  of 
modern  life,  among  all  the  flying  grit  of  the  air,  into 
a  stately  tree,  which  would  shelter  the  world  with 
beauty  and  peace.  He  would  be  a  supreme  soul.  He 
would  dominate  this  rabble  which  hooted  him. 

He  lit  another  cigarette.  John  was  like  a  man  sent 
from  God.  John  was  unreal.  John  had  marched  be- 
fore him  with  a  torch.     Now  that  ghostly  master  of 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  39 

his  had  thrust  the  torch  into  the  road,  pointing  him 
forward  with  a  gesture.  The  way  to  perfection  lay 
further  on,  along  a  path  too  narrow  for  two.  Ear  up 
the  path  he  could  see  Ottalie,  a  glimmer  of  fragrant 
beauty,  half  hidden  in  a  whirling  dust-storm  which 
almost  swept  him  off  the  ledge.  The  dust  should  not 
keep  him  from  her.  He  would  climb  to  her.  They 
would  go  on  together. 

At  this  instant,  as  the  melancholy  intensity  of  the 
bells  tolled  the  quarter-hour,  the  window-door  opened 
on  the  other  side  of  the  straw  trellis.  A  lady  came  out 
on  to  the  balcony.  She  hummed  one  of  Heine's  songs 
in  a  little  low  voice,  which  left  the  music  full  of  gaps. 
Roger  recognised  the  singer's  voice.  He  wondered  if 
her  husband  were  with  her.  He  supposed  that  he  must 
be  at  the  House,  and  that  she  was  waiting  for  him. 
Her  skirts  rustled  as  she  moved.  A  faint  scent  of 
violet  attracted  Roger  to  her.  It  was  faint,  exotic,  and 
suggestive.  There  is  an  intoxication  in  perfumes.  She 
stood  there  for  a  full  ten  seconds  before  she  divined  his 
presence  beyond  the  screen.  Her  song  stopped  in- 
stantly. Two  seconds  more  convinced  her  that  the 
person  was  male  and  alone.  A  third  suggested  that  he 
was  a  burglar. 

"  Who  is  there  ?  "  she  said  quietly.  Her  voice  was 
anxious  rather  than  fearful. 

"  I'm  so  sorry,"  said  Roger.  He  did  not  know  what 
else  to  say.     "  I  live  here."     He  thought  that  it  would 


40  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

be  polite  to  go  indoors.  He  turned  to  go.  To  his  sur- 
prise slie  spoke  again. 

"  Can  you  give  me  a  cigarette  ?  "  she  said.  She  still 
spoke  quietly.  She  spoke  as  if  a  maidservant  were  in 
the  room  behind  her.  Roger  was  flustered.  He  was  a 
man  of  quick  blood  in  a  condition  of  excited  nerves. 

"  Yes,"  he  said.  "  "Will  you  have  Russian,  or  Amer- 
ican, or  Turkish  ?  " 

She  appeared  to  debate  for  an  instant. 

"  Give  me  a  Russian,"  she  said.  "  Give  it  to  me 
through  this  hole  in  the  matting.     Thanks." 

"  Have  you  a  match  ?  "  Roger  asked. 

"  !N'o,"  she  answered.  "  Give  me  a  light  from  yours, 
please.     Don't  set  the  mat  on  fire,  though." 

He  thrust  his  burning  cigarette  through  the  hole  in 
the  matting.  He  felt  the  pressure  of  her  cigarette  upon 
it.  He  heard  her  quickened  breathing.  He  saw  the 
glow  brightening  through  the  mat  as  the  tobacco 
kindled. 

"  Thanks,"  she  said  softly,  with  a  little  half-laugh. 
"  How  did  the  play  go  ?  " 

"  The    play  ?  "    Roger    stammered.     "  It    was 

Do  you  mean Which  play  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Your  play ;  The  Roman  Matron.  You  are  Mr. 
Naldrett,  aren't  you  ?  I  met  you  once  for  a  moment 
at  a  house  in  Chelsea.  At  Mrs.  Melyard's,  three  years 
ago.     I  was  just  going." 

He  remembered  that  hectic  beauty  Mrs.   Melyard. 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  41 

She  was  like  a  green  snake.  She  used  to  receive  her 
intimates  (she  had  no  friends)  in  a  room  hung  with 
viridian.  There  were  green  couches,  green-shaded 
lights,  a  gum  hurning  gTeenly  in  a  brazier  with  green 
glass  sides.  She  herself  was  dressed  in  green,  glitter- 
ing, metallic  scales,  which  made  a  noise  like  serpent's 
hissing  as  she  glided.  "  Nothing  is  really  interesting 
except  vice,"  was  the  onlj  phrase  which  he  could  re- 
member of  Mrs.  Melyard's  conversation.  She  was  a 
feverish  character,  explained  bv  inherited  phthisical 
taint.  Melyard  collected  tsuba,  and  fenced  archaeo- 
logically  at  the  Foil  Club.  Lie  was  the  best  rapier  and 
dagger  man  in  England. 

"  You  are  Mrs.  Templeton  ?  "  he  asked.  "  I  remem- 
ber a  lady  at  Mrs.  Melyard's." 

"  I  wasn't  married  then,"  she  said  quickly.  "  How 
did  the  play  go  ?  "  , 

"  It  was  booed  ofp." 

"  I'm  sorry,"  she  said.  She  meant  "  I  am  sorry  that 
I  asked." 

Roger  wondered  how  he  could  get  away.  It  de- 
pended on  the  lady. 

"  Can't  you  sleep  ?  "  she  asked  suddenly. 

"  No." 

"  I  can't.     Will  it  bore  you  to  come  in  to  talk  to  us  ?  " 

He  was  used  to  unconventional  people.  He  saw 
nothing  strange  in  the  woman's  invitation.  Most  of 
the  women  kno^^'n  to  him  would  have  acted  as  simply 


42  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

and  as  frankly  in  the  same  circumstances.  He  knew 
that  Templeton  seldom  went  to  bed  before  two.  He 
took  it  for  granted  that  Templeton  was  in  the  sitting- 
room;  possibly  within  earshot. 

"  I'm  not  very  presentable,"  he  said.  "  Let  me 
change  this  robe." 

"  We  shan't  mind,"  she  said,  reassuring  him. 
"  Come  on." 

"  Will  you  let  me  in  ?  " 

"  We'll  pull  down  this  screen." 

They  pulled  down  the  old  matting  with  two  vigorous 
jerks.  Roger  stepped  across  the  partition  into  the  fur- 
ther balcony. 

"  Come  in,"  she  said,  passing  through  the  window. 
"  It's  dark  inside  here.  Take  care  of  the  chair  there," 
She  put  out  a  hand  to  pull  the  chair  away.  She  did  it 
roughly,  making  a  good  deal  of  noise. 

"  You  sit  here,"  she  said.  "  That  chair's  comfy. 
I'll  sit  here,  opposite;  here's  an  ash-tray." 

"  Could  I  light  a  lamp  or  candle  ? "  Roger  asked, 
taking  out  his  match-box. 

"  No,  thanks,"  she  said.  "  Don't  light  up  just  yet ; 
I'm  sick  of  light.  I  wish  we  could  live  in  the  dark,  like 
wild  beasts." 

"  London  is  on  your  nerves,"  said  Roger.  "  The 
noise  and  worry  are  upsetting  you.  You  are  tired  of 
London,  not  of  light." 

He  was  disappointed  by  being  asked  to  sit  in  dark- 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  43 

iiess.  He  began  to  lose  interest  in  the  lady.  She  was 
only  a  modern  dramatic  heroine,  i.e.  a  common  woman 
overstrained.  He  had  heard  similar  affected  silliness 
from  a  dozen  empty  women,  some  of  them  pretty.  He 
had  heard  that  Mrs.  Templeton  was  pretty.  As  she 
refused  light,  he  decided  that  fame  had  lied.  "  She 
must  be  a  blonde,"  he  thought,  "  and  this  room  is  lit 
by  electricity."  He  wished  that  Templeton  would 
come.  Templeton  w^ould  make  the  situation  easier,  and 
his  wife's  talk  more  sensible.  The  lady  was  silently 
trying  to  sum  him  up. 

"  'No ;  I'm  not  tired  of  London,"  she  was  saying. 
"  Only  one  cannot  live  in  London." 

"  London  is  on  your  nerves,"  Roger  repeated. 
"  London  is  a  feverish  great  spider.  It  sucks  out 
vitality,  and  leaves  its  own  poison  instead.  Look  at  the 
arts.  A  young  artist  comes  up  here  full  of  vitality. 
Unless  he  is  a  truly  great  man,  London  will  suck  it  all 
out  of  him,  and  make  him  as  poisonous  and  as  feverish 
as  herself." 

"  Yes,  that  is  quite  true,"  she  answered.  "  I  wish 
we  could  all  be  simple  and  natural,  and  have  time  to 
live.  Life  is  so  interestin'.  The  only  really  inter- 
estin'  thing." 

"  Wliat  kind  of  life  do  you  wish  to  live  ?  " 

"  I  wish  to  live  my  own  life.  I  want  to  know  my 
own  soul.  To  live.  In  London  one  is  always  livin' 
other  people's  lives,  goin'  dinin',  doin'  things  because 


44  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

other  people  do  them.  But  where  else  can  you  meet 
interestin'  people  ?  " 

"  People  are  not  essential  to  true  life,"  said  Eoger. 
"  I  believe  that  all  perfect  life  is  communion  with  God, 
conversation,  that  is,  with  ideas ;  ^  godly  conversation.' 
People  are  to  some  extent  like  thoughts,  like  living 
ideas ;  for  the  inner  and  the  outer  lives  correspond." 

"  You  mean  that  life  is  a  kind  of  curve  ? "  the  lady 
interrupted.  The  question  was  a  moral  boomerang. 
She  often  used  it  defensively;  she  had  once  felled  a 
scientist  with  it. 

"  Life  is  whatever  you  like  to  make  it." 

"  I'm  thinkin'  of  goin'  to  live  in  Ireland,"  said  the 
lady.  "  The  people  must  be  so  exquisitely  charmin'. 
Such  a  beautiful  life,  sittin'  round  the  fire,  singin'  the 
old  songs.     And  then  their  imagination !  " 

"  Their  charm  is  superficial,"  said  Roger.  "  Taking 
the  times  together,  I've  lived  in  Ireland  for  seven  years. 
I  have  a  cottage  there.  I  do  not  think  that  you  will  sit 
round  many  fires,  to  sing  old  songs,  after  the  first  fine 
careless  rapture,  which  lasts  a  month.  I'm  an  English- 
man, of  course.  When  in  Ireland  I'm  only  one  of  the 
English  garrison.  I  may  be  wanting  in  sympathy ;  but 
I  maintain  that  the  Irish  have  no  imagination.  Im- 
agination is  a  moral  quality." 

"  I  don't  think  an  Englishman  can  understand  the 
Irish,"  said  the  lady. 

"  Wlien  an  Irishman  is  great  enough  to  escape  from 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  45 

the  littleness  of  his  race,  he  becomes  a  very  splendid 
person,"  Roger  answered.  "  But  until  that  happens  he 
seems  to  me  to  be  wanting  in  any  really  fundamental 
quality." 

"  Oh,"  said  the  lady,  "  you  are  talking  so  very  like 
an  Englislmian.  You  aren't  interested  in  life,  I  see. 
You  are  only  interested  in  morals.  But  you  cannot  say 
that  the  Irish  have  no  imagination.  They  have  won- 
derful imagination.  Look  at  the  way  they  talk.  And 
their  writers:  Swift,  Goldsmith,  Sheridan.  And 
their  own  exquisite  Irish  poets." 

"  I'd  give  the  whole  company  for  one  act  of  Addi- 
son's Cato"  said  Roger.  "  Swift  had  a  limited  vision 
and  a  diseased  mind.  He  diagnosed  his  own  diseases. 
Goldsmith  wrote  some  pretty  verses.  But  I  do  not 
think  that  you  have  read  them.  Have  you  ?  Sheridan 
wrote  a  comedy  at  the  age  of  twenty-four  to  prove  that 
a  sot  is  nobler  than  a  scholar.  Later,  he  tried  to  prove 
it  in  his  own  person.  I  do  not  read  Irish.  I  have  read 
translations  from  it.  Its  distinctive  quality  seemed 
to  me  to  be  just  that  kind  of  windy  impersonality  which 
one  hears  in  their  talk." 

"  That  is  so  English  of  you,"  said  the  lady,  laughing. 
"  I  think  that  I  ought  to  be  very  thankful  for  my  Celtic 
blood." 

"Are  you  a  Celt?" 

"  Yes ;  from  Cornwall.  I  think  it  gives  me  an  in- 
stinctive love  of  the  beautiful." 


46  MULTITUDE  AI^D  SOLITUDE 

"  Those  who  love  beauty  make  it.  I,  too,  have  been 
a  Celt.  I  was  a  Celt  from  my  twenty-second  till  my 
twenty-fifth  year.  Then  I  discovered  a  very  curious 
fact  —  two  facts." 

"  What  were  they  ?  " 

"First,  that  the  Celt's  love  of  the  beautiful  is  all 
bunkum.  Second,  that  the  people  of  these  islands  are 
mongrels,  bred  from  the  scum  of  Europe.  You  can  call 
yourself  an  Anglo-Saxon,  or  a  Celt,  or  an  Aryan,  or  a 
Norman,  or  a  Long-Barrow  Palseolith ;  but  if  you  came 
from  these  islands,  you  are  a  mongrel,  a  mongrel  of  a 
most  chequered  kind." 

At  this  instant  the  door  opened  suddenly,  and  the 
electric  light  was  turned  on.  In  the  doorway  stood 
Templeton  —  a  tall,  bald,  thin-faced  man,  with  foxy 
moustache  and  weak  eyes.  His  face  show^ed  amazed 
anger. 

"  Wliat  is  this  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Let  me  introduce  you,"  said  the  lady.  "  My  hus- 
band, Mr.  N"aldrett." 

Roger,  standing  up  under  the  angry  gaze  of  Temple- 
ton,  was  conscious  of  looking  like  a  fool,  in  his  robe  of 
green  silk  dragons. 

"  I  don't  understand,"  said  Templeton. 

"  I  asked  Mr.  IS^aldrett  here  to  talk  to  me,"  said  the 
lady. 

"  So  I  presume,"  said  Templeton. 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  47 

"  Have  you  had  au  interesting  sitting  ? "  Roger 
asked. 

Templeton  did  not  answer.  He  was  glaring  at  bis 
wife.  His  opera  hat  was  tilted  back;  bis  overcoat  was 
unbuttoned;  an  unligbted  cigarette  drooped  from  his 
mouth. 

"Archie,"  said  the  lady  suavely,  "  Hr.  iSTaldrett  is 
my  friend.     I  asked  him  here  to  talk  to  me." 

"  So  I  see,"  said  Templeton. 

"  To  talk  to  me,"  the  w^oman  repeated,  flaring  up, 
"  while  you  were  with  Mrs.  Liancourt  at  her  flat  in  St. 
Anne's  Mansions.  I  know  when  the  House  rose,  and 
where  you  went  afterwards.  If  you're  goin'  to  have 
your  friends,  I'm  goin'  to  have  mine." 

Templeton  seemed  to  gulp.     He  turned  to  Roger. 

"  Perhaps  you  will  go,"  be  said. 

"Yes,  I  think  I  bad  better,"  said  Roger.  "I  am 
sorry  that  I  came." 

He  rose  to  go.     Mrs.  Templeton  turned  to  him. 

"  A  quarter  to  three,"  she  said  sweetly.  "  You  will 
remember  that  ? " 

Roger  looked  bard  at  Mrs.  Templeton.  Never  again 
would  be  speak  civilly  to  a  woman  with  high  cheek- 
bones, steel  eyes,  and  loose  mouth.     He  bowed  to  her. 

"  I  didn't  deserve  it,"  he  said  quietly.  He  w^alked  to 
the  window-door,  feeling  like  some  discovered  lover  in  a 
play.     As  be  entered  the  balcony,  Templeton  slammed 


48  MULTITUDE  Al^D  SOLITUDE 

to  the  door  behind  him  with  a  snarl  of  "  ITow,"  as  he 
opened  fire  on  his  wife.  Templeton's  flanks  were 
turned.  He  was  blowing  up  his  ammunition  wagons 
before  surrendering. 

For  a  moment  Eoger  felt  furious  with  Templeton. 
Then  he  blamed  the  ladj.  She  had  played  him  a  scurvy 
trick.  Lastly,  as  he  began  to  understand  her  position, 
he  forgave  her.  He  blamed  himself.  He  felt  that  he 
had  mixed  himself  with  something  indescribably 
squalid. 

As  he  undressed  for  bed  he  blamed  the  world  for  its 
vulgarity,  and  dreariness,  and  savagery.  The  world 
was  too  much  with  him.  It  was  thwarting,  and  blight- 
ing, and  destroying  him.  He  longed  to  get  away  from 
the  world.  Anywhere.  To  those  Irish  hills  above  the 
sea,  to  his  beautiful  friend,  to  some  peaceful,  gentle 
life,  where  the  squalor  of  his  night's  adventures  would 
be  unknown  and  unremembered.  He  felt  contami- 
nated. He  longed  to  purify  himself  in  the  sea  below  his 
love's  home.  He  thought  of  that  water.  He  saw  it  lit 
by  the  sun,  with  tremulous  brown  sea-leaves  folding. 
Sand  at  the  bottom,  six  feet  down,  made  a  wrinkled 
blur  of  paleness,  across  which  a  lobster  crawled.  He 
would  go  there.  In  fifteen  hours  he  would  be  tearing 
towards  it  through  the  night,  past  the  great  glaring 
towns,  on  into  the  hills,  to  the  sea. 

A  thought  of  the  shaking  of  the  train,  and  of  the 
uneasy  sleep   of  the  people  in   the  carriage,   merged 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  49 

gradually  into  the  blur  which  precedes  unconsciousness. 
Before  Big  Ben  tolled  four  he  was  asleep,  in  that  kind 
of  restless  nightmare  which  chains  the  will  without 
chaining  the  intelligence.  In  that  kind  of  sleep  which 
is  not  sleep  he  dreamed  a  dream  of  Ottalie,  which 
awakened  him,  in  sudden  terror,  at  seven. 


Ill 

I  prythee,  sorrow,  leave  a  little  room 
In  my  confounded  and  tormented  mind 
For  understanding  to  deliberate 
The  cause  or  author  of  this  accident. 

The  Atheist's  Tragedy. 

HE  tliouglit,  as  he  sat  up,  that  an  instant  before 
his  true  self  had  walked  in  the  spiritual 
kingdom,  apprehending  beauty.  Now,  with 
the  shock  of  waking,  the  glory  wavered,  like  a  fire  of 
wet  wood,  fitfully,  among  the  smoke  of  the  daily  life 
flooding  back  in  his  brain's  channels.  The  memory  of 
the  beauty  came  in  gleams,  moving  him  to  the  bone,  for 
it  seemed  to  him  that  the  spirit  of  his  love  had  moved 
in  the  chambers  of  his  brain,  bringing  a  message  to 
him,  while  the  dulnesses  of  his  body  lay  arrested.  A 
dream  so  beautiful  must,  he  thought,  be  a  token  of  all 
beauty,  a  sign,  perhaps,  that  her  nature  was  linked  to 
his,  for  some  ecstatic  purpose,  by  the  power  outside  life. 
Her  beauty,  her  sweetness,  her  intense,  personal  charm, 
all  the  sacredness  that  clothed  her  about,  had  walked 
with  him  in  one  of  the  gardens  of  the  soul.  That  was 
glory  enough ;  but  the  dream  was  intense  and  full  of 
mystery;  it  had  brought  him  very  near  to  something 

awful  and  immortal,  so  strange  and  mighty  that  only 

60 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  51 

a  heart's  tick,  something  in  the  blood,  had  kept  him 
from  the  presence  of  the  symbol-maker,  and  from  the 
full  knowledge  of  the  beauty  of  the  meaning  of  life. 

The  vision  seemed  meaningless  when  pieced  together. 
Words  in  it  had  seemed  revelations,  acts  in  it  adven- 
tures, romances;  but  judged  by  the  waking  mind,  it 
was  unintelligible,  though  holy,  like  a  Mass  in  an  un- 
known tongue. 

He  had  found  her  in  the  garden  at  her  home,  among 
flowers  lovelier  than  earthly  flowers,  among  flowers  like 
flames  and  precious  stones.  That  was  the  beginning  of 
it.  Then  in  the  sweetness  of  their  talk  he  had  become 
conscious  of  all  that  her  love  meant  to  him,  of  all  that 
it  meant  to  the  power  which  directs  life,  of  all  that  his 
failure  to  win  her  would  mean,  here  and  hereafter. 
Life  had  seemed  suddenly  terrible  and  glorious,  a 
wrestle  of  God  and  devil  for  each  soul.  With  this  con- 
sciousness had  come  a  change  in  the  dream.  She  had 
gone  from  him. 

That  was  the  middle  of  it.  Then  that  also  changed. 
She  had  left  him  to  seek  for  her  through  the  world. 
Suddenly  she  had  sent  a  message  to  him.  He  was  walk- 
ing to  meet  her.  Delight  filled  him  as  wine  fills  a  cup. 
He  would  see  her,  he  would  touch  her  hand,  her  eyes 
would  look  into  his.  He  had  never  before  been  so 
moved  by  the  love  of  her.  His  delight  was  not  the  old 
selfish  pleasure,  but  a  rapturous  comprehension  of  her 
beauty,  and  of  that  of  which  her  beauty  was  the  sjonbol. 


52  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

He  knew,  as  he  walked,  that  the  beloved  life  in  her  was 
his  own  finer  self,  longing  to  transmute  him  to  her 
brightness.  A  word,  a  touch,  a  look,  and  they  would  be 
together  in  nobleness;  he  would  breathe  the  beauty  of 
her  character  like  pure  air,  he  would  be  a  part  of  her 
forever. 

So  he  had  walked  the  streets  to  her,  noticing  nothing 
except  the  brightness  of  the  sun  on  the  houses,  till  he 
had  stood  upon  the  stair-top  knocking  vainly  at  the  door 
of  an  empty  house.  It  came  upon  him  then  with  an 
exhaustion  of  the  soul,  like  death  itself,  that  he  had 
come  too  late.  She  had  gone  away  disappointed,  per- 
haps angry.  The  door  would  never  open  to  him;  he 
would  never  meet  her  again;  never  even  enter  the  hall, 
dimly  seen  through  the  glass,  to  gather  relics  of  her. 
Within,  as  he  could  see,  lay  a  handkerchief  and  a  with- 
ered flower  once  worn  by  her,  little  relics  bitterly  pre- 
cious, to  be  nursed  in  his  heart  in  a  rapture  of  agony, 
could  he  only  have  them.  But  he  had  come  too  late; 
he  had  lost  her ;  his  heart,  wanting  her,  would  be  empty 
always,  a  dead  thing  going  through  life  like  a  machine. 
In  his  vision  he  could  see  across  to  Ireland,  to  her 
home.  He  could  see  her  there;  sad  that  she  had  not 
seen  him.  He  had  tried  to  wade  to  her  through  a  chan- 
nel full  of  thorns,  which  held  him  fast.  Erom  the 
midst  of  the  thorns  he  could  see  a  young  man,  with 
a  calm,  strong  face,  talking  to  her.  Shaken  as  he  was 
by  grief,  and  prepared  for  any  evil,  he  realised  that 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  53 

this  youth  was  to  be  her  mate,  now  that  he  had  lost 
her. 

Lastly,  at  the  end  of  the  dream,  he  had  received  a 
letter  from  her,  with  the  postmark  Athens  across  the 
Greek  stamp.  The  letter  had  been  the  most  real  part 
of  the  dream.  It  was  her  very  hand,  a  dashing,  virile 
hand,  with  weak,  unnsnal  f's,  t's  crossed  far  to  the  right 
of  their  uprights,  and  a  negligent  beauty  in  some  of  the 
curves  of  the  capitals.  The  letters  were  small,  the 
down-strokes  determined  but  irregular,  never  twice  the 
same.  It  w^as  the  hand  of  a  vivid,  charming,  but  not 
very  strong  character.  He  could  not  remember  what 
the  letter  said.  Only  one  sentence  at  the  end  remained. 
"  I  have  read  your  last  book,"  it  ran ;  "  it  reads  like 
the  diary  of  a  lost  soul."  There  was  no  signature; 
nothing  but  the  paper,  with  the  intensely  vivid  writ- 
ing, and  that  one  sentence  plainly  visible.  It  was  even 
sound  criticism.  The  book  of  sketches  had  been  self- 
conscious  experiments  in  style,  detached,  pictorial  pres- 
entation of  crises,  clever  things  in  their  way,  but  start- 
ling, both  in  colour  and  in  subject,  the  results  of 
moods,  not  of  perfected  personality.  The  sketches  had 
been  ill-assorted;  that  was  another  fault.  But  he  had 
not  thought  them  evil.  Sitting  up  in  bed,  with  the 
damning  sentence  still  vivid,  he  felt  that  they  must 
be  evil,  because  she  disliked  them.  He  had  created 
brutal,  erring,  passionate,  and  wicked  types,  with  frank 
and  natural  creative  power.     At  this  moment  he  felt 


54  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

himself  judged.  He  felt  for  the  first  time  that  the 
theories  of  art  common  to  the  little  party  of  his  friends, 
were  not  so  much  theories  of  art  as  declarations  of 
youthful  independence,  soiled  with  personal  failures  of 
perception  and  personal  antipathies.  He  was  wrong; 
his  art  was  all  wrong;  his  art  was  all  self-indulgence, 
not  self-perfection.  An  artist  had  no  right  to  create  at 
pleasure,  ignoble  types  and  situations,  fixing  fragments 
of  the  perishing  to  the  walls  of  the  world,  as  a  keeper 
nails  vermin.  Ottalie's  fair  nature  was  not  nourished 
on  such  work.  Great  art  called  such  work  "  sin,"  "  de- 
nial of  the  Holy  Ghost,"  "  crucifixion  of  our  Lord." 
He  reached  for  the  offending  book;  but  the  words 
seemed  meaningless;  some  of  the  intricate  prose- 
rhythms  were  clever.  But  anybody  can  do  mechanics 
and  transcribe.  Style  and  imagination  are  the  diffi- 
cult things.  He  put  the  book  aside,  wondering  if  he 
would  ever  do  good  work. 

He  was  haunted  by  the  dream  until  he  was  dressed. 
Then  the  memories  of  the  night  before  came  in  upon 
him,  the  yells  of  the  mob,  hooting  his  soul's  child,  the 
bloated  face  of  the  sot,  his  friend's  farewell  that  had 
had  neither  warning  nor  affection,  the  indignity  of  the 
visit  to  the  Templetons',  till  the  world  seemed  to  be 
pressing  its  shapeless  head  upon  his  windows,  shriek- 
ing insults  at  him,  through  yielding  glass.  He  began 
to  realise  that  he  had  had  the  concentrated  torment 
of  months  suddenly  stamped  upon  him  in  a  night.     His 


MULTITUDE  AXD  SOLITUDE  55 

work,  his  person,  his  affections,  his  social  nature  had 
all  been  trampled  and  defiled.  He  wondered  what 
more  torments  were  coming  to  him  with  the  new  day. 
Some  forethought  of  what  was  coming  crossed  his  mind 
when  he  saw  his  breakfast-table.  Beside  his  teacup 
were  three  or  four  daily  papers,  in  which,  in  clear  type, 
were  set  forth  the  opinions  of  Britain's  moral  guardians 
concerning  their  immoral  brother. 

There  were  letters  first,  some  of  them  left  from  the 
night  before.  An  obscure  acquaintance,  a  lady  in 
Somersetshire,  sent  some  verses,  asking  for  his  criti- 
cism, and  for  the  address  of  "  a  publisher  who  would 
pay  for  them."     One  of  the  poems  began 

"Hark!   hark!  hark! 
"lis  the  song  of  the  Lark, 
Dewy   with    spangles    of   morn." 

A  second  letter  from  the  same  lady  enclosed  a  "  Poem 
on  My  Cat  Peter,"  which  had  been  accidentally  omitted 
from  the  other  envelope.  His  agent  sent  him  a  very 
welcome  cheque  for  £108,  for  his  newly  completed  novel. 
Xext  came  a  letter  from  a  stranger,  asking  for  permis- 
sion to  set  some  verses  to  music.  A  charitable  countess 
asked  for  verses  for  her  new  Bazaar  Book.  An  Amer- 
ican !N"ews  Cutting  Bureau  sent  a  little  bundle  of  re- 
views of  his  book  of  sketches.  The  wrapper  on  the 
bundle  bore  a  legend  in  red  ink :  — 

"  TVe  mail  you  45  clippings  of  The  Handful.  Has 
your  Agency  sent  you  that  many  ?     If  you  like  our  way 


66  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

of  business,  mail  us  $1.50,  and  we  will  continue  to  col- 
lect clippings  under  your  name." 

He  disliked  their  way  of  business.  He  flung  the 
clippings  unread  into  the  fireplace.  The  next  letter 
asked  him  to  lecture  to  the  Torchbearers'  Guild,  who, 
it  seemed,  admired  "  the  virile  manliness  "  of  his  style. 
Last  of  all  came  a  letter  from  an  unknown  clergyman 
denouncing  the  pernicious  influence  of  The  Hmidful  in 
words  which,  without  being  rude,  were  offensive  beyond 
measure.     He  took  up  the  papers. 

The  first  paper,  The  Daily  Dawn,  treated  him  d'haut 
en  has,  as  follows :  — 

"  M.  Ealempin's  latest  theatrical  adventure,  A  Ro- 
man Matron,  by  Mr.  Eoger  l^aldrett  (whom  we  sus- 
pect, from  internal  evidence,  to  be  a  not  very  old  lady), 
was  produced  last  night  at  the  King's  Theatre.  As 
far  as  the  audience  permitted  us  to  judge,  before  the 
piece  ended  in  a  storm  of  groans,  we  think  that  it  is 
entirely  unsuited  to  the  modem  stage.  The  character 
of  Petronius,  finely  played  by  Mr.  Danvers,  showed 
some  power  of  psychological  analysis;  but  Mr.  (or 
Miss)  iN'aldrett  would  do  well  to  remember  that  the 
Aristotelian  definition  of  tragedy  cannot  be  disregarded 
lightly." 

The  criticism  in  the  second  paper,  The  Dayspring, 
was  written  in  more  stately  prose  than  that  of  TJie 
Dawn. 

"  An  unreasonable  amount  of  excitement  was  begot- 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  57 

ten  by  the  entourage,"  it  ran ;  "  but  the  piece,  which 
was  dull,  and  occasionally  disgusting,  convinced  us  that 
the  ]^ew  Drama,  about  which  w^e  have  heard  so  much 
lately,  would  do  better  to  adequately  study  a  drama 
more  germane  to  modern  ideas,  such  as  we  fortunately 
possess,  than  libel  the  institutions  from  which  our 
glorious  Constitution  is  derived,"  which  was  certainly  a 
home-thrust  from  The  Dayspring. 

The  third  paper,  The  Morning,  in  its  news  column, 
referred  to  a  disgraceful  fracas  at  the  King's  Theatre. 
"  The  police,"  said  The  Morning,  "  were  soon  on  the 
spot,  and  removed  the  more  noisy  members  of  the  au- 
dience. Neither  M.  Falempin,  the  manager  of  the  the- 
atre, nor  Miss  Hanlon,  who  took  a  leading  part  in  the 
offending  play,  would  consent  to  be  interviewed,  when 
waited  on,  late  last  night,  by  a  representative  of  this 
paper." 

The  fourth  paper.  The  Day,  said  savagely  that  The 
Matron  should  never  have  passed  the  Censor,  and  that 
its  production  was  an  indelible  blot  on  M.  Falempin's 
(hitherto  spotless)  artistic  record.  Roger  had  written 
occasional  reviews  for  The  Day,  about  a  dozen,  all  told. 
On  the  same  page,  and  in  the  column  next  to  that  con- 
taining the  "  Dramatic  IsTotes,"  was  a  review  signed  by 
him.  Roger  turned  to  this  review,  to  see  how  it  read. 
It  was  a  review  of  a  worthless  book  of  verse  by  a  suc- 
cessful versifier.  The  literary  editor  of  The  Day  had 
asked  Roger  to  write  a  column  on  the  book.     As  the 


58  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

book  deserved,  at  most,  three  scathing  words  in  a  Dun- 
ciad,  Roger  had  written  a  column  about  poetry,  a  very 
pretty  piece  of  critical  writing,  worth  five  thousand  such 
books  fifty  times  over.  Its  only  fault  was  that,  being 
about  poetry,  it  had  little  reference  to  the  book  of  verse 
by  the  successful  poet.  So  the  literary  editor  had 
"  cut "  and  "  written  in  "  and  altered  the  article,  till 
Koger,  reading  it,  on  this  tragical  morning,  found  him- 
self self -accused  of  despicable  truckling  to  Mammon, 
and  the  palliation  of  iniquity,  in  sentences  the  rhythms 
of  which  jarred,  and  in  platitudes  which  stung  him. 
He  flung  down  the  paper.  He  would  never  again  write 
for  The  Day.  He  would  never  write  another  word  for 
any  daily  or  weekly  paper.  He  remembered  what 
d'Arthez  says  in  Les  Illusions  Perdues.  He  blamed 
himself  for  not  having  remembered  before. 

He  ate  very  hurriedly,  so  that  he  might  lose  no  time 
in  getting  to  the  flat  in  Shaftesbury  Avenue,  to  find  out 
if  Ottalie  were  really  there.  Ottalie;  the  sight  of  Ot- 
talio;  the  sound  of  her  voice  even,  would  end  his  trou- 
bles for  him.  The  thought  of  her  calmed  him.  The 
thought  of  her  brought  back  the  dream,  with  a  glow  of 
pleasure.  The  dream  came  and  went  in  his  mind,  seem- 
ing now  strange,  now  beautiful.  His  impression  of  it 
was  that  given  by  all  moving  dreams.  He  thought  of 
it  as  a  kind  of  divine  adventure  in  which  he  had  taken 
part.  He  felt  that  he  had  apprehended  spiritually  the 
mysterious  life  beyond  ours,  and  had  learned,  finally, 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  59 

forever,  that  Ottalie's  soul  was  linked  to  his  soul  by 
bonds  forged  by  powers  greater  than  man.  A  cab  came 
chittering  up.  There  came  a  vehement  knocking  at  the 
outer  door.  "  Ottalie,"  he  thought.  Selina,  the  house- 
maid, entered. 

"  A  lady  to  see  you,  sir,"  she  said. 

He  stood  up,  gTilping,  expecting  Ottalie.  The  lady 
entered.  She  was  not  Ottalie.  She  was  a  total  stran- 
ger in  a  state  of  great  excitement. 

"  Are  you  Mr.  Naldrett,  sir  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Yes.     Yes.     What  is  it  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Pollock's  compliments,  sir,  and  will  you  please 
come  round  at  once  ?  " 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  " 

"  It's  Mr.  Pollock,  sir.  He's  had  a  fit  or  somethink. 
He's  lying  in  the  grate  with  all  the  blood  gone  to  his 
apalex." 

"  Right,"  said  Roger,  stuffing  his  letters  into  his 
pockets.     "  I'll  come.     ^Vhen  did  it  happen  ?  " 

"  Just  now,  sir.  He'd  just  gone  into  the  studio,  to 
begin  his  painting.  Then  there  came  a  crash.  And 
the  missus  and  I  rush  in,  and  there  he  was  in  the  grate, 
sir." 

"  Yes.     Yes.     Have  you  sent  for  a  doctor  ?  " 

"  No,  sir.     The  missus  said  to  go  for  you." 

They  galloped  off  in  the  cab  together.  Pollock  with 
the  bloody  apalex  was  a  young  artist  whose  studio  was 
in  Vincent  Square.     Roger  was  fond  of  him.     He  had 


GO  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

shared  rooms  with  him  until  his  marriage.  Eoger  won- 
dered as  he  drove  what  was  going  to  happen  to  the  wife 
if  Pollock  died.  She  was  expecting  a  child.  Pollock 
hadn't  made  much,  poor  fellow. 

"  Very  beautiful  paintings,  Mr.  Pollock  does,  sir," 
said  the  lady  with  enthusiasm.  "  Oh,  he  does  them 
beautiful.  But  they're  not  like  ordinary  pictures.  I 
mean,  they're  not  pretty,  like  ordinary  pictures. 
They're  like  old-fashioned  pictures." 

"  Yes,"  said  Koger.  "  Tell  me.  Is  his  big  picture 
finished  ?  The  one  with  the  lady  under  a  stained-glass 
window." 

"  1^0,  sir.  It's  got  a  lot  to  do  yet,  sir,  O  I  'ope 
nothink's  going  to  'appen  to  'im,  sir." 

"  Now  here  we  are,"  said  Roger,  as  the  cab  slack- 
ened. "  Now  you  drive  to  the  corner  there.  You'll 
see  a  brass  plate  with  De.  Colx,inson  on  it  at  the  cor- 
ner house.  Tell  him  to  get  into  the  cab  with  you  and 
come  round  at  once.  Go  on,  now.  See  that  he  comes 
at  once." 

The  door  of  the  flat  stood  open.  Eoger  entered  hur- 
riedly. Just  inside  he  ran  against  Pollock,  who  was 
hastening  with  a  jug  of  water  from  the  bathroom. 

"  What  is  it.  Pollock  ?     Are  you  better  ?  " 

"  I'm  all  right,"  said  Pollock,  feeling  a  bandaged 
head.     "  It's  Kitty.     Not  me.     Come  on  in,  quick." 

"  But  I  thought  you  were  having  apoplexy." 

"  That  heavy  frame  full  of  Diirers  came  down.     The 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  61 

corner  caught  me  over  the  eye  while  I  was  standing  by 
the  mantelpiece.  It  knocked  me  out.  Come  on  in.  I 
believe  Kitty's  in  a  bad  way." 

Kitty  lay  on  a  couch.  Her  face  was  not  like  a  hu- 
man being's  face.  Pollock,  very  white,  sponged  her 
brow  with  cold  water. 

"  There,  dear,"  he  kept  saying,  "  O  God,  O  God, 
0  God,"  those  ^vords,  over  and  over  again. 

Koger  ran  to  the  bedroom  for  pillows.  There  was  a 
fire  in  the  kitchen.  He  poked  it  up,  and  put  water  to 
boil. 

"Where's  her  hot-water  bottle?"  he  called.  Not 
getting  any  answer  he  looked  for  it  in  one  of  the  beds, 
which  had  not  yet  been  made  up.  He  filled  the  bottle 
and  made  up  the  bed.  "  Now,  Charles,"  he  said,  "  we 
must  get  her  into  bed.  I  wish  your  girl  would  bring 
the  doctor." 

Charles  looked  at  him  stupidly.  "  1  believe  she's 
dying,  Roger,"  he  answered.  "  O  God,  I  believe  she's 
dying.  I've  never  seen  any  one  like  this.  She  used  to 
be  so  pretty,  Roger,  before  all  this  happened." 

"  Dying  ?  Nonsense !  "  said  Roger.  He  turned  to 
the  patient.  "  Kitty,"  he  said,  "  we're  going  to  put 
you  to  bed.     Lean  on  my  arm." 

The  laughter  stopped ;  but  the  limbs  crazily  made 
protest.  He  had  never  seen  anything  like  it.  It  w^as 
as  though  the  charming  graceful  woman  had  suddenly 
Lccu  filled  by  the  spirit  of  a  wild  animal,  which  was 


62  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

knocking  itself  to  pieces  against  the  corners  in  the 
strange  house. 

"  We  shall  have  to  carry  her,  Charles,"  he  said. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Charles.     "  She's  dying." 

The  doctor,  coming  in  abruptly,  took  the  battle  out 
of  his  hands.  "  Come,  come,"  he  said.  "  Come,  Mrs. 
Pollock.  I  was  afraid  that  you  were  ill.  You'll  feel  a 
lot  better  when  you  get  to  bed.     I  want  you  to  rest." 

He  turned  to  Pollock.  "  Get  her  into  bed,"  he  said. 
"  Have  you  got  a  nurse  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Pollock.     "  She  can't  come  till  July." 

"  Bessie  here  will  do  for  the  moment,"  said  Roger. 

Bessie  and  Pollock  helped  her  to  bed.  The  doctor 
and  Roger  talked  desultorily. 

"  No.  It's  nothing  serious.  So  the  frame  came 
down  and  stunned  him  ?  I  see.  And  she  came  in  and 
found  him  in  the  grate  ?  Yes.  A  nasty  shock.  Yes. 
Yes.  Of  course,  it  may  be  serious.  It  will  be  impos- 
sible to  say  till  I  see  her.  If  she  had  had  other  children 
I  should  say  not.  But —  "Would  you  say  that  she 
is  an  excitable  woman,  given  to  these  attacks  ? " 

"  No.  She  used  to  write  a  little.  She  is  nervous ; 
but  not  excitable.  Do  you  find  that  occupation  has 
much  influence  on  the  capacity  to  resist  shock  ?  " 

"  N-no,"  said  the  doctor.  "  Resistance  depends  on 
character.  Occupation  only  modifies  character  slightly. 
Life  being  what  it  is,  one  has  to  be  adaptable  to  sur- 
vive." 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  63 

Pollock  entered,  looking  beaten. 

"  Will  yon  come,  doctor  ?  "  he  said. 

They  went. 

Presently  Pollock  returned  alone.     He  sat  down. 

"  It's  It,"  he  said  despondently.  "  My  picture's  not 
done.  I  shan't  have  a  penny  till  July.  We  were 
counting  on  its  not  happening  till  July.  I've  not  got 
ten  pounds." 

"  You  mustn't  worry  about  that,"  said  Roger. 
"  You  must  borrow  from  me.  Take  this  cheque.  I'll 
endorse  it.  Give  me  yours  for  half  of  it.  Don't  say 
you  won't.  Look  here.  You  must,  ^ow  about  a 
nurse.  Look  here.  Listen  to  me,  Charles.  You  can't 
leave  here.  I'll  see  about  a  nurse.  I  know  the  sort  of 
woman  Kitty  would  like.  I'll  settle  all  that  with  the 
doctor.  I'll  send  the  best  I  can.  You  can't  leave 
Kitty,  that's  certain." 

Pollock  pulled  himself  together.  The  doctor  re- 
turned. Roger  took  the  addresses  of  several  women, 
and  hurried  off  to  interview  them.  ]S[o  cab  was  in 
sight.  He  wasted  ten  good  minutes  of  nervous  tension 
in  trying  to  find  one.  He  found  one  at  last.  As  he 
drove,  the  desire  to  be  at  Ottalie's  flat  made  him  for- 
get his  friend.  He  thought  only  of  the  chance  of  see- 
ing Ottalie.  He  must  waste  no  time.  He  wondered 
if  he  would  be  too  late,  as  in  his  dream.  He  would 
have  to  get  there  early,  very  early.  He  prayed  that 
the  first  nurse  on  his  list  might  be  a  suitable  woman. 


64  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

The  image  of  the  suitable  nurse,  a  big,  calm,  placid, 
ox-eyed  woman,  formed  in  his  mind.  If  he  could  find 
her  at  once  he  would  be  in  time.  He  was  longing  to 
be  pounding  past  Wliitehall,  on  the  way  to  Shaftes- 
bury Avenue.  A  clock  above  a  hosier's  told  him  that 
it  was  nine.  l^o.  That  clock  had  stopped.  Another 
clock,  further  on,  over  a  general  store,  said  eight-fif- 
teen. Yet  another,  eight-thirty.  His  watch  said  eight- 
thirty-five;  but  his  watch  was  fast. 

Mrs.  Perks,  of  7  Denning  Street,  was  out.  "Would  he 
leave  a  message?  'No,  he  would  not  leave  a  message. 
"Was  it  Mrs.  Ford?  !N'o,  not  Mrs.  Ford,  another  lady. 
Perhaps  he  would  come  back.  He  bade  the  cabman  to 
hurry.  Mrs.  Stanton,  the  next  on  the  list,  could  not 
come.  She  was  expecting  a  call  from  another  lady. 
Mrs.  Sanders  was  out,  and  "  wouldn't  be  back  all  day, 
she  said."  The  fourth,  a  brisk,  level-headed  woman, 
busy  at  a  sewing-machine  in  a  neat  room,  would  come; 
but  was  he  the  husband,  and  could  she  be  certain  of  her 
fees,  and  what  servants  were  kept  ? 

He  said  that  the  fees  were  safe.  He  gave  her  two 
sovereigns  on  account.  Then  she  boggled  at  the  single 
servant.  She  was  not  very  strong.  She  had  never  be- 
fore been  with  any  lady  with  only  one  servant.  She 
wasn't  sure  how  she  would  get  on.  She  had  herself  to 
consider. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  said  Roger.  "  You  would  have  been 
the  very  woman.     I'll  go  on  to  the  hospital." 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  65 

"  Perhaps  I  could  manage,"  she  said. 

"  Will  you  come  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Is  it  in  a  house  or  a  flat  ?  " 

"  It's  in  a  top  flat." 

"  I  dare  say  I  could  manage,"  she  said,  still  hesitat- 
ing. 

Roger,  remembering  suddenly  that  Pollock  had  a 
married  sister,  vowed  that  another  lady  would  be  there 
a  good  deal  in  the  daytime.  She  weighed  this  fact  as 
she  stood  by  the  door  of  the  cupboard  about  to  take  her 
hat. 

"  I  don't  think  I  should  care  to  do  it,"  she  said  sud- 
denly.    "  I've  not  been  used  to  that  class  of  work." 

Turning  at  the  door  as  he  went  out,  he  saw  that  she 
was  watching  him  with  a  faint  smile.  Only  the  hos- 
pital remained. 

It  took  him  a  long  way  out  of  his  way.  It  was 
twenty  past  nine  when  he  reached  the  hospital.  Very 
soon  it  would  be  too  late  for  Ottalie.  His  heart  sank. 
He  believed  in  telepathy.  He  was  thinking  so  fixedly 
on  Ottalie  that  he  believed  that  she  must  sense  his 
thought.  "  Ottalie,  Ottalie,"  he  kept  saying  to  him- 
self. "  Wait  for  me.  Wait  for  me.  I  shall  come.  I 
am  coming  as  fast  as  I  can.  Can't  you  feel  me  hurry- 
ing to  you?  Wait  for  me.  Don't  let  me  miss  you." 
He  discharged  his  horse-cab,  and  engaged  a  motor-cab. 
Two  minutes  later  he  had  engaged  a  nurse.  She  was 
in  the  cab  with  him.     They  were  whirling  south. 


66  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

"  No,"  she  was  telling  him.  ''  I  don't  find  much 
difference  in  my  cases.  I  don't  generally  see  them 
after.  Some  are  more  interesting  than  others.  I  like 
being  with  an  interesting  case.  I  don't  mean  to  say  a 
serious  case,  and  have  either  of  them  die,  and  that.  I 
mean,  you  know,  out  of  the  usual.  That's  why  I  like 
having  to  do  with  a  first  child." 

She  asked  if  there  were  any  chance  of  her  being  too 
late.  Roger,  with  his  heart  full  of  Ottalie,  could  not 
tell  her. 

"  I  shouldn't  like  to  be  too  late,"  she  said.  "  I've 
never  missed  a  case  yet.  Never.  I  should  be  vexed 
if  I  were  too  late  with  this  one.  It's  a  painter  gentle- 
man, I  think  you  said  it  was  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"  I  was  with  a  painter's  lady  once  before,"  she  said. 
"  He  gave  me  a  little  picture  of  myself." 

They  reached  the  flat.  Pollock's  sister  had  arrived. 
The  doctor  had  sent  his  son  for  her.  Pollock  was 
moodily  breaking  chalk  upon  a  drawing.  The  studio 
was  foul  with  the  smoke  of  cigarettes.  "  I  can't  work," 
he  said,  lighting  a  cigarette  from  the  fag-end  of  the  last. 
"  Sit  down."  He  flung  away  his  chalk  and  sat  down. 
"  You've  been  awfully  good  to  me,  Roger.  You've  got 
me  out  of  a  tragedy.  You  don't  know  what  it  feels 
like." 

"  How  is  Kitty  ?  " 

"  Pretty  well,  the  doctor  thinks.     God  knows  what 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  67 

he  would  call  bad.  This  is  all  new  to  me.  I  don't 
want  to  go  through  this  again.  God  knows  if  she'll  ever 
get  through  it.  I  shall  shoot  myself  if  an;)i;hing  hap- 
pens to  Kitty." 

Roger  glanced  at  his  watch.  It  was  eighteen  min- 
utes to  ten.  He  would  have  to  fly  to  find  Ottalie.  If 
she  were  in  town  at  all,  she  would  he  out  by  ten.  He 
was  sure  of  that.  His  motor-cab  was  waiting.  He  had 
a  quarter  of  an  hour.  But  how  could  he  leave  Pollock 
in  this  state  ? 

"  Charles,"  he  said,  "  I  want  you  to  come  out  with 
me.  You've  got  on  shoes,  I  see.  Take  your  hat. 
Kitty  is  with  three  capable  women  and  a  doctor. 
You're  only  in  the  way,  and  making  a  fuss.  Come 
with  me.  I'll  leave  you  at  the  National  Gallery,  while 
I  see  a  friend.  Then  we'll  go  to  Bondini's,  in  Suffolk 
Street."  He  called  gently  to  Pollock's  sister.  "  Mrs. 
Fane,"  he  said,  "  I'm  taking  Charles  to  Bondini's,  in 
Suffolk  Street." 

"  A  very  good  thing,"  said  Mrs.  Pane.  "  A  man  is 
much  better  out  of  the  way  in  times  like  these." 

They  started.  Just  outside  Dean's  Yard  Gate  the 
cab  broke  do^\^l.  Roger  got  out.  "  What's  the  mat- 
ter ? "  he  asked. 

"  Nothing  much,  sir,"  said  the  man,  already  busy 
under  the  bonnet.  "  I  won't  keep  you  a  minute.  Get 
in  again,  sir." 

A  hand  touched  Roger's  arm.     He  turned.     A  total 


68  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

stranger,  unmistakably  a  journalist,  was  at  his  side. 
Roger  shuddered.  It  was  an  interviewer  from  The 
Meridian. 

"  Mr.  Naldrett  ?  "  said  the  interviewer,  taking  a  long 
shot.  "  I  recognised  you  by  your  portrait  in  The  Bib- 
liophile. A  lucky  meeting.  Perhaps  you  didn't  get 
my  telegram.  I  called  round  at  your  rooms  just  now, 
but  you  were  out.  I  want  to  ask  you  about  your  play 
The  Matron.  It  attracted  considerable  attention. 
Will  you  please  tell  me  if  you  have  any  particular  ideas 
about  tragedy  ? " 

"  Yes,"  said  Eoger ;  "  I  have.  And  I'm  going  to  ex- 
press them.  I'm  in  a  great  hurry;  and  I  must  refuse 
to  be  interviewed.  Please  thank  your  editor  from  me 
for  the  honour  he  has  done  me;  but  tell  him  that  I 
cannot  be  interviewed." 

"  Certainly  not,  since  you  wish  it,"  said  the  journal- 
ist. "But  I  would  like  to  ask  you  one  thing.  I  am 
told  your  play  is  very  morbid.  Are  you  morbid? 
You  don't  look  very  morbid." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  Roger.     "  But  I  am  not  morbid." 

"  Mr.  ISTaldrett,"  said  the  journalist,  "  are  you  going 
to  write  any  more  tragedies  like  The  Roman  Matron?  " 

"  I  have  one  finished  and  one  half  finished,"  said 
Roger. 

"I  hope,  Mr.  Naldrett,"  said  the  journalist,  "that 
you  have  written  them  for  ordinary  people,  as  well  as 
to  please  yourself.     Writing  to  please  one's  self  is  very 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  69 

artistic.  But  won't  you  consider  Clapham,  and  Bal- 
ham,  and  Tooting?  How  will  you  please  them  with 
tragedies  ?  A  good  comedy  is  what  people  like.  They 
want  something  to  laugh  at,  after  their  day's  work. 
They're  quite  right.  A  good  comedy's  the  thing. 
Anybody  can  write  a  tragedy.  What's  the  good  of  mak- 
ing people  gloomy  ?  One  wants  the  pleasant  things  of 
life,  Mr.  Naldrett,  on  the  stage.  One  goes  to  the  the- 
atre to  be  amused.  There's  enough  tragedy  in  real  life 
without  one  getting  more  in  the  theatre.  I  suppose 
you've  studied  Ibsen,  Mr.  Naldrett  ? " 

"  Have  not  you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  believe  in  him.  He  may  be  a  thinker  and 
all  that,  but  his  view  of  life  is  very  morbid.  He  is  a 
decadent.  Of  course,  they  say  his  technique  is  very 
fine.     But  he  has  a  mind  like  a  sewer." 

"  Quite  ready,  sir,"  said  the  chauffeur,  swinging  him- 
self into  his  sea.t. 

"  I  must  wish  you  good-bye,  here,"  said  Roger  to  the 
interviewer.  "  Mind  your  coat.  It's  caught  in  the 
door.  Mind  you  thank  your  editor."  The  cab  snorted 
off,  honking.  The  interviewer  gazed  after  it.  "  H'm," 
he  said,  with  that  little  c^iiical  nod  with  which  the  un- 
intelligent express  comprehension.  "  So  that's  the  new 
drama,  is  it  ?  " 

The  car  reached  Trafalgar  Square  without  being 
stopped  by  the  traffic.  St.  Martin's  clock  stood  at  a 
few  minutes  to  ten.     Roger  was  in  the  dismal  mood  of 


70  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

one  who,  having  given  up  hope,  is  yet  not  certain.  He 
dropped  Pollock  at  the  Gallery,  and  then  sped  on, 
through  Leicester  Square,  up  a  little  street  full  of  res- 
taurants and  French  book  shops.  The  car  was  stopped 
by  traffic  at  the  end  of  this  street.  Roger  leapt  out, 
paid  the  man  hurriedly,  and  ran  into  the  Avenue. 
Within  thirty  seconds,  he  was  running  up  four  flights 
of  stairs  to  the  door  on  which  he  had  knocked  in  his 
vision. 

He  peered  through  the  glass  in  the  door.  As  in  his 
dream,  something  lay  in  the  passage  beyond,  some  glove 
or  handkerchief  or  crumpled  letter,  with  a  shaft  of 
sunlight  upon  it  from  an  open  door.  No  one  came  to 
open  to  him;  but  Roger,  knocking  there,  was  conscious 
of  the  presence  of  Ottalie  by  him  and  in  him;  he  felt 
her  brushing  past  him,  a  rustling,  breathing  beauty, 
wearing  a  great  hat,  and  those  old  pearl  earrings  which 
trembled  when  she  turned  her  head.  But  no  Ottalie 
came  to  the  door,  no  Agatha,  no  old  Mrs.  Hicks  the  care- 
taker. The  flat  was  empty.  After  a  couple  of  minutes 
of  knocking,  an  old,  untidy,  red-faced  woman  came  out 
from  the  flat  beneath,  gasping  for  breath,  with  her 
hand  against  her  side. 

"  No  use  your  knockin',''  she  said  crustily. 
"  They're  gawn  awy.  They  i'n't  'ere.  They're  gawn 
awy." 

"  When  did  they  go  ? "  asked  Roger,  filled  suddenly 
with  leaping  fire. 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  71 

"  They're  ga^vll  awy/'  repeated  the  old  womau. 
"  No  use  your  knockin'.  They're  gawn  awy."  She 
gasped  for  a  moment,  eyeing  Koger  with  suspicion  and 
dislike ;  then  turned  to  her  home  with  the  slow,  un- 
certain, fumbling  movements  of  one  whose  heart  is  af- 
fected. 

Koger  was  left  alone  on  the  stairs,  aware  that  he  had 
come  too  late. 

The  stairs  were  covered  with  a  layer  of  sheet-lead. 
"WTien  the  old  woman  had  shut  her  door,  Koger  grovelled 
down  upon  them,  lighting  match  after  match,  in  the 
hope  of  finding  footmarks  which  might  tell  him  more. 
Agatha  had  rather  long  feet,  Ottalie's  were  small,  but 
very  well  proportioned.  Mrs.  Hicks's  feet  were  dis- 
guised by  the  boots  she  wore.  A  scrap  of  bro^^^l  lino- 
leum on  the  stair-head  bore  evident  marks  of  a  man's 
hobnail  boots  which  had  waited  there,  perhaps  for  an 
answer.  There  were  other,  non-committal  marks, 
which  might  have  been  made  by  anybody.  On  the 
whole,  Koger  fancied  that  a  woman  had  made  them, 
when  going  out,  with  dry  shoes,  that  morning.  The 
problem  now  w^as,  had  she  left  London  for  Ireland  or 
for  the  Continent  ?  With  some  misgivings,  he  decided 
against  Ireland.  On  former  occasions  she  had  always 
made  her  stay  in  London  after  her  visit  to  the  Conti- 
nent. If  she  had  been  staying  in  London  for  more 
than  one  night,  she  would  have  written  to  him;  he 
would  have  seen  her.     As  she  had  not  written  to  him, 


72  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

she  was  plainly  going  abroad,  probably  for  a  month 
or  six  weeks,  after  resting  for  one  night  on  the  way. 
He  would  not  see  her  till  the  middle  of  the  summer. 
That  she  had  been  in  town,  for  at  least  one  night,  was 
plain  from  what  the  woman  had  said.  The  thought 
that  only  a  few  hours  ago  she  had  passed  where  he 
stood,  came  home  to  him  like  her  touch  upon  him.  He 
sat  down  upon  the  stair-head  till  his  disappointment  was 
mastered. 

He  took  a  last  look  through  the  door-glass  at  the 
crumpled  thing,  glove,  letter,  or  handkerchief,  lying  in 
the  passage.  Then  he  went  out  into  the  avenue.  The 
disappointment  was  very  bitter  to  him.  It  was  so 
strong  an  emphasis  upon  the  prophetic  quality  of  his 
dream.  Ottalie  had  been  there,  waiting  for  him.  He 
had  come  there  too  late.  He  had  missed  her.  The 
thought  that  he  had  missed  her,  suggested  the  cause. 
He  would  have  to  go  back  to  Pollock.  He  could  not 
leave  his  friend  alone  in  that  wild  state  of  mind.  A 
smaller  man  would  perhaps  have  felt  resentment  against 
the  cause.  Eoger  was  without  that  littleness.  He. saw 
only  the  tragic  irony.  He  saw  life  being  played  upon  a 
great  plan.  He  felt  himself  to  be  a  fine  piece  set  aside 
from  his  own  combination  by  one  greater,  stronger, 
more  wonderful.  It  seemed  very  wonderful  that  he 
had  been  kept  (so  unexpectedly)  from  Ottalie,  by  the 
one  thing  in  the  world  strong  enough  so  to  keep  him. 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  73 

JSTotbing  but  a  matter  of  life  and  death  could  have  kept 
him  from  her. 

A  lively  desire  sprang  up  iu  him  to  know  whither 
she  had  gone.  This  (he  thought)  he  could  find  out, 
without  difficulty,  from  a  Bradshaw.  If  she  were  go- 
ing to  Greece,  she  would  go  by  one  of  two  ways.  For 
a  few  minutes  he  had  the  hope  that  she  might  not  yet 
have  left  London,  that  he  might  catch  her  at  the  station. 
A  Bradshaw  show^ed  him  that  this  was  possible,  since, 
going  by  one  route,  she  would  not  have  to  start  till 
after  seven  in  the  evening.  But,  if  she  had  chosen  that 
route,  why  should  she  have  closed  the  flat  so  early? 
He  saw  no  answer  to  the  question.  Still,  the  uncer- 
tainty preyed  upon  him  and  flattered  him  at  the  same 
time.  She  might  be  there  at  seven.  He  w^ould  go  to 
the  station,  in  any  case.  Would  it  were  seven!  He 
had  nine  hours  to  live  through. 

He  walked  hurriedly  to  the  ]!^ational  Gallery.  He 
remembered,  when  he  entered,  that  he  had  made  no 
rendezvous  with  Pollock.  He  expected  to  find  him  be- 
fore the  Ariadne.  He  was  not  there.  He  was  not 
before  his  other  favourite.  The  Return  of  Ulysses.  He 
was  not  in  any  of  the  little  rooms  opening  off  the  Italian 
rooms.  A  hurried  walk  round  all  the  foreign  schools 
showed  that  Pollock  was  not  in  that  part  of  the  Gallery 
at  all.  Very  few  people  were  in  the  Gallery  at  that 
hour.     There  could  be  no  mistake.     He  tried  the  Eug- 


74  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

lish  rooms,  without  success.  He  described  Pollock  to 
the  keepers  of  the  lower  stairs.  "  JSTo,  sir.  No  one's 
gone  down  like  that."  Search  in  the  basement,  in  the 
little  rooms  where  the  Turner  water-colours  and  Arun- 
del prints  are  kept,  showed  him  that  Pollock  was  not  in 
the  Gallery.  He  wished  to  be  quite  certain.  He  made 
a  swift  beat  of  the  French  and  Spanish  rooms,  and 
thence,  by  the  Dutch  and  Flemish  schools,  to  the  Italian 
rooms.  Here  he  doubled  back  upon  his  tracks,  to  avoid 
all  possibility  of  mistake.  He  was  now  certain  Pollock 
was  not  in  the  Gallery.  Very  probably  he  had  never 
entered  it.     What  had  become  of  him  ? 

He  could  hardly  have  gone  to  the  Portrait  Gallery, 
he  thought.  Yet  it  was  possible.  Pollock  was  in  an 
excited  state  of  mind.  He  was  hardly  in  a  fit  state  to 
be  out  alone.  Roger  felt  anxious.  He  hurried  to  the 
Portrait  Gallery.  After  a  long  search,  upstairs  and 
downstairs,  in  those  avenues  of  painted  eyes,  he  decided 
that  Pollock  was  not  there,  either.  He  must  have  gone 
to  Bondini's.  Suffolk  Street  was  only  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  away.  Roger  hurried  on  to  look  for  him  at  Bon- 
dini's.  But  no.  He  was  not  at  Bondini's.  Where, 
then,  could  he  be  ? 

By  this  time,  Roger  was  alarmed  for  his  friend.  He 
thought  that  something  must  have  happened  to  Kitty. 
He  took  a  cab  to  Vincent  Square  to  make  sure.  Pol- 
lock let  him  in.     He  was  smoking  a  cigarette.     His 


MULTITUDE  A:N^D  SOLITUDE  75 

bandage  gave  him  a  one-ejed  look,  infinitely  depress- 
ing. 

"  I'm  sorry,  Eoger,"  he  said ;  "  I  couldn't  keep  away 
from  Kitty.  She's  quieter,  but  no  better.  O  God, 
Eoger,  I  don't  know  how  men  can  be  unkind  to  women. 
I  don't  know  what  I  shall  do  without  her,  if  anything 
happens  to  her," 

"  You  must  not  lose  heart,  like  this,"  Roger  said. 
"  I  understand,  very  well,  what  you  are  feeling.  But 
you  ought  not  to  expect  evil  in  this  way.  Very,  very 
few  cases  go  wrong,  now.  I  was  afraid  that  something 
had  happened  to  you.  Will  you  come  to  my  rooms 
for  a  game  of  chess  ?  Then  we  could  lunch  together, 
and  go  on,  perhaps,  to  Henderson's.  He  has  finished 
the  picture  he  was  working  on." 

Pollock  was  not  to  be  tempted.  He  would  not  leave 
Kitty.  After  talking  with  him  for  nearly  an  hour, 
Roger  left  him,  promising  to  come  back  before  long,  to 
enquire. 

Wlien  he  got  outside,  into  the  street,  with  no  definite, 
immediate  object  to  occupy  his  mind,  he  was  assailed 
by  the  memories  of  his  succession  of  mishaps.  He 
could  not  say  that  one  of  them  hurt  more  than  another. 
The  loss  of  Ottalie,  following  so  swiftly  on  the  dream, 
made  him  miserable.  The  destruction  of  his  play  by 
the  critics  made  him  feel  not  exactly  guilty,  but  unclean, 
as  though  the  rabble  had  spat  upon  him.     He  felt  "  un- 


76  MULTITUDE  AKD  SOLITUDE 

clean,"  in  the  Levitical  sense.     He  bad  some  hesita- 
tion in  going  to  mix  with  his  fellows. 

He  kept  saying  to  himself  that  if  he  were  not  very 
careful,  the  world  would  he  flooding  into  his  mind, 
trampling  its  garden  to  mud.  It  was  his  duty  to  beat 
back  the  world  before  it  fouled  his  inner  vision.  If  he 
were  not  very  careful  he  would  find  that  his  next  work 
would  be  tainted  with  some  feverish  animosity,  some 
personal  bitterness,  or  weakness  of  contempt.  It  was 
his  duty  as  a  man  and  as  an  artist  to  prevent  that,  so 
that  his  mind  might  be  as  a  hedged  garden  full  of 
flowers,  or  as  a  clear,  unflawed  mirror,  reflecting  only 
perfect  images.  The  events  of  the  night  before  had 
broken  in  his  barriers.  He  felt  that  his  old  theory,  laid 
aside  long  before,  when  he  first  felt  the  fascination  of 
modern  artistic  methods,  was  true,  after  all;  that  the 
right  pursuit  of  the  artist  was  the  practice  of  Christian- 
ity. He  found  in  the  ISTational  Gallery,  in  the  battle 
picture  of  Uccello,  in  the  nobleness  of  that  young 
knight,  riding  calmly  among  the  spears,  a  healing  image 
of  the  artist.  He  lingered  before  that  divine  young 
man  with  the  fair  hair  until  one  o'clock.  He  passed 
the  afternoon  at  a  table  in  the  British  Museum,  reading 
all  that  he  could  find  about  Ottalie.  There  was  her 
name  in  full  in  the  Irish  Landed  Gentry.  There  were 
the  names  of  all  her  relatives,  and  the  names  of  their 
houses.  It  was  an  absurd  thing  to  read  these  entries, 
but  the  names  were  all   stimulants  to  memory.     He 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  77 

knew  these  people  and  places.  They  took  vivid  shape 
in  his  mind  as  he  read  them.  lie  had  read  them  be- 
fore, more  than  once,  when  the  craving  for  her  had 
been  bitter  in  the  past.  lie  knew  the  names  of  her 
forebears  unto  the  third  and  fourth  generation.  A  vol- 
ume of  WJio's  Who  gave  him  details  of  her  living  rela- 
tives. A  married  uncle's  recreations  were  "  shooting 
and  hunting."  A  maiden  aunt  had  published  Songs 
of  Quiet  Life,  in  1902.  Her  older  brother,  Leslie 
Fawcett,  had  published  a  novel,  One  Summer,  in  189 L 
Both  these  volumes  lay  beside  him.  He  read  them 
again,  for  the  tenth  time.  Both  were  very  short 
works;  and  both,  he  felt,  helped  him  to  understand 
Ottalie.  Neither  work  w^as  profound ;  but  both  came 
from  a  sweet  and  noble  nature,  at  once  charming  and 
firm.  There  were  passages  in  the  songs  which  were 
like  Ottalie's  inner  nature  speaking.  In  the  novel,  in 
the  chapter  on  a  girl,  he  thought  that  he  recognised  Ot- 
talie as  she  must  have  been  long  ago. 

The  volume  of  the  Landed  Gentry  gave  him  pity  for 
the  historian  who  would  come  a  century  hence,  to  grub 
up  facts  for  his  history.  Ottalie,  dear,  breathing,  beau- 
tiful woman,  witty,  and  lovely-haired,  and  noble  like  a 
lady  in  a  poem,  would  be  to  such  a  one  "  3rd  dau.," 
or,  perhaps,  mere  "  issue." 

At  five  o'clock,  he  put  away  his  books.  He  went  to 
drink  tea  at  a  dairy,  in  High  Holborn.  He  entered  the 
place  with  some  misgivings,  for  his  two  emotions  made 


78  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

the  world  distasteful  to  him.  The  memory  of  the 
night  before  made  him  feel  that  he  had  been  whipped 
in  public.  The  thought  of  Ottalie  made  him  feel  that 
the  real  world  was  in  his  brain.  He  shrank  from  meet- 
ing anybody  known  to  him.  That  old  feeling  of  "  un- 
cleanness "  came  strongly  over  him.  The  stuffy  un- 
quiet of  the  Museum  had  at  least  been  filled  by  preoc- 
cupied, selfish  people.  Here  in  the  tea-shop,  everybody 
stared.  All  the  little  uncomfortable  tables  were  peo- 
pled by  pairs  of  eyes.  He  felt  that  a  woman  giggled, 
that  a  young  man  nudged  his  fellow.  Stepping  back 
to  let  a  waitress  pass,  he  knocked  over  a  chair.  The 
place  was  cramped;  he  felt  stupidly  awkward  and  un- 
comfortable. He  blushed  as  he  picked  up  the  chair. 
Everybody  stared.  It  seemed  to  him  that  they  were 
saying,  "  That  is  Mr.  Naldrett,  the  author  of  the  piece 
which  was  booed  off  last  night.  They  say  it's  very  im- 
moral. Millie  was  there.  She  said  it  was  a  silly  lot 
of  old-fashioned  stuff.  Wliat  funny  eyes  he's  got. 
And  look  at  the  way  he  puts  his  feet." 

He  sat  down  in  a  corner,  from  which  he  could  survey 
the  room.  A  paper  lay  upon  the  table ;  he  picked  it  up 
abstractedly.  It  was  a  copy  of  The  Post  Meridian. 
Somebody  had  rested  butter  upon  the  upper  part  of  it. 
He  glanced  at  it  for  an  instant,  just  long  enough  to  see 
a  leading  article  below  the  grease  mark.  "  Drama  and 
Decency,"  ran  the  scarehead.  It  went  on  to  say  that 
the  London  public  had  once  again  shown  its  unerring 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  79 

sense  of  the  fitness  of  things  over  Mr.  Naldrett's  play. 
He  dropped  the  paper  to  one  side,  and  wiped  the  hand 
which  had  touched  it.  He  felt  beaten  to  bay.  He 
stared  forward  at  the  house  so  fiercely  that  a  timid  lady, 
of  middle  age  and  ill-health,  possibly  as  beaten  as  him- 
self, turned  from  the  chair  opposite  before  she  sat  do\vn. 
There  were  no  friends  of  his  there,  except  a  red- 
haired,  fierce  little  poet,  who  sat  close  by,  reading  and 
eating  cake.  The  yellow  back  of  Les  Fleurs  du  Mai 
was  propped  against  his  teapot.  He  bit  so  fiercely 
that  his  beard  wagged  at  each  bite.  Something  of  the 
fierceness  and  passion  of  the  Femmes  Damnees,  or  of 
le  vin  de  V Assassin,  was  wreaked  upon  the  cake.  There 
came  a  muttering  among  the  bites.  The  man  was  al- 
most reading  aloud.  A  memory  of  Baudelaire  came  to 
Eoger,  a  few  grand  melancholy  lines :  — 

"  La  servante  au  grand  ooeur  dont  vous  etiez  jalouse, 
Et  qui  dort  sans  sommeil  sous  une  humble  pelouse, 
Nous  devrions  pourtant  lui  porter  quelques  fleurs. 
Les  morts,  les  pauvres  morts,  ont  de  grandes  douleurs, 
Et  quand  Octobre  souffle,  6niondeur  des  vieux  arbres. 
Son  vent  m^lancolique  h.  I'entour  de  leurs  marbres, 
Certe,  ils  doivent  trouver  les  vivants  bien  ingrats." 

He  wondered  if  it  would  be  like  that.  A  waitress 
brought  him  tea  and  toast.  He  poured  a  little  tea 
into  his  cup,  thinking  of  a  man  now  dead,  who  had 
drunk  tea  there  with  him  a  year  ago.  One  was  very 
callous  about  the  dead.  He  wondered  if  the  dead  were 
callous  about  the  living,  or  whether  they  had  of  grandes 


80  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

douleurSj  as  the  poet  thought.  He  felt  that  he  would 
not  mind  being  dead,  but  for  Ottalie.  He  wondered 
whether  Ottalie  had  read  the  papers.  He  buttered 
some  toast  and  laid  it  to  one  side  of  his  plate,  a  sort 
of  burnt  offering  to  the  dead.  A  line  on  the  bill  of 
fare  caught  his  eye.  "Pan-Bos.  Our  new  Health 
Bread.  Per  Portion,  2d."  His  tired  mind  turned  it 
backwards,  ".d2  ,noitroP  reP  daerB."  "  I  am  going 
mad,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  Shall  I  go  to  Ireland  to- 
night ?  " 

Something  warned  him  that  if  he  went  to  Ireland, 
Ottalie  would  not  be  there.  With  Ottalie  away,  it 
would  be  intolerable.  There  would  be  her  house,  up 
on  the  hills,  and  all  those  sycamores,  like  ghosts  in  the 
twilight,  ghosts  of  old  men  brooding  on  her  beauty,  like 
the  old  men  in  Troy  when  Helen  passed.  No.  lie 
could  not  bear  Ireland  with  her  away.  He  thought  of 
the  boat  train  with  regret  for  the  old  jolly  jaunts. 
The  guard  with  a  Scotch  accent,  the  carriage  in  front 
which  went  on  to  Dundee,  the  sound  of  the  beautiful 
Irish  voice  ("voce  assai  piii  che  la  nostra  viva"),  and 
then  the  hiring  of  rug  and  pillow,  knowing  that  one 
would  wake  in  Scotland,  among  hills,  running  water,  a 
"  stately  speech,"  and  pure  air.  It  would  not  be  wise 
to  go  to  Ireland.  If  he  went  now,  with  Ottalie  away, 
he  might  not  be  able  to  go  later,  when  she  would  be 
there.  It  would  be  nothing  without  her.  Nothing  but 
lonely  reading,  writing,  walking,  and  swimming.     It 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  81 

would  be  better  not  to  go.  Here  the  poet  gulped  his 
cake,  rose,  and  advanced  on  Roger. 

"  How  d'jou  do  ? "  lie  said,  speaking  rapidly,  as 
though  his  words  were  playing  tag.  "  I've  just  been 
talking  to  Collins  about  you.  lie's  been  telling  me 
about  your  play.     I  hear  you  had  a  row,  or  something." 

"  Yes.     There  was  a  row." 

"  Collins  has  been  going  for  you  in  The  Daystar. 
He  says  you  haven't  read  Aristotle,  or  something. 
Have  you  seen  his  article  ?  " 

"  ^0.     I  haven't  seen  it." 

"  Oh,  you  ought  to  read  it.  Parts  of  it  are  very 
witty.     It  would  cheer  you  up." 

"  What  does  he  say  ?  " 

"  He  says  that  —  Oh,  you  know  what  Collins  says. 
He  says  that  you  —  I  believe  I've  got  it  on  me.  I  cut 
it  out.     Where  did  I  put  it  ?  " 

"  ISTever  mind.     I'm  not  interested  in  Collins." 

"  Aren't  you  ?  He's  very  good.  I  suppose  your 
play'll  be  produced  again  later  ?  " 

"  I  think  not." 

He  got  rid  of  the  poet,  paid  his  bill,  and  walked  out. 
Outside  he  ran  into  Hollins,  the  critic  of  The  Weeh. 
He  would  have  avoided  Hollins,  but  Hollins  stopped 
him. 

"  Ah,  ISTaldrctt,"  he  said.  "  I've  just  been  going  for 
you  in  The  Weeh.  Wliat  do  you  mean  by  that  third 
act  ?     Really.     It  really  was  — " 


82  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

It  gave  Roger  a  kind  of  awe  to  think  that  this  man 
had  been  damning  other  people's  acts  before  he  was 
bom. 

"  What  was  wrong  with  the  third  act  ?  You  didn't 
hear  it." 

"  You  must  read  M.  Capus,"  said  Hollins,  passing 
on.     "  I  shall  go  for  you  until  you  do." 

A  newsboy,  with  a  voice  like  a  bird  of  doom,  flying 
in  the  night,  held  a  coloured  bill.  "  Drama  and  De- 
cency," ran  the  big  letters.  Another,  offering  a  copy, 
shewed,  as  allurement,  "  'ceful  Fracas."  The  whole 
town,  seemed  angry  with  him.  He  crossed  into  Seven 
Dials,  and  along  to  St.  Martin's  Lane,  where  he  knew 
of  a  quiet  reading-room.     Here  he  hid. 


IV 

There's  hope  left  yet. 

The   Virgin  Martyr. 

AT  seven  o'clock  he  went  to  the  station,  hoping 
/-\  (against  his  better  judgment)  that  he  might 
see  Ottalie  at  the  train.  The  train  was  very 
crowded.  The  travellers  wore  the  pleased,  expectant 
look  with  which  one  leaves  an  English  city.  Ottalie 
was  not  among  them.  He  went  down  the  train  twice, 
in  opposite  directions,  without  success.  She  was  not 
there.  She  must  have  started  that  morning.  He  had 
missed  her. 

He  sat  do^^^l  on  one  of  the  station  benches.  His 
world  seemed  slipping  from  him.  He  told  himself  that 
to-morrow  he  would  have  to  work,  or  all  these  worries 
would  destroy  him.  He  felt  more  lonely  than  he  had 
ever  felt  in  his  life.  A  week  before,  he  would  have  had 
O'Neill,  Pollock,  and  another  friend,  now  abroad. 
O'lSTeill  was  gone,  without  a  farewell.  Pollock  was 
fighting  his  o\vn  battles,  with  poor  success.  Ottalie  was 
thundering  across  France,  or,  perhaps,   just  drawing 

into  Paris, 

83 


84  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

A  longing  to  see  some  one  drove  him  out  of  the  sta- 
tion. He  walked  to  Soho,  to  a  Spanish  restaurant, 
where  some  of  his  friends  sometimes  dined. 

Here,  at  night,  the  curious  may  visit  Spain,  and  hear 
the  guttural,  lisping  speech,  and  munch  upon  chuletas, 
and  swallow  all  manner  of  strangeness  in  cazuelas. 
Very  bold  young  men  cry  aloud  there  for  "  Mozo,"  lisp- 
ing the  z.  The  less  bold  signal  with  the  hand.  The 
timid  point,  and  later,  eat  that  which  is  set  before  them, 
asking  no  question,  obeying  Holy  Writ,  though  without 
spiritual  profit. 

On  entering  the  place,  he  bowed  to  the  Scotch-look- 
ing, heavily-earringed  Spanish  woman,  who  sat  at  the 
desk  reading  Blanco  y  Negro.  She  gave  him  a  "  Bu- 
enas  tardes,"  without  lifting  her  eyes.  Then  came, 
from  his  right,  a  cry  of  "  Naldrett !  " 

Two  painters,  a  poet,  and  proportionable  woman- 
kind, were  dining  together  there,  over  the  evening 
papers. 

"  How  are  you  ?  "  said  one  of  the  painters. 

"  We've  just  been  reading  about  you,"  said  the  other. 

"  Heading  the  most  terrible  things,"  said  the  poet. 

"  Shew  him  The  Orh.     The  Orb's  the  best." 

"  No.  Shew  him  The  Planet.  The  one  who  says  he 
ought  to  be  prosecuted." 

Roger,  refusing  Orh  and  Planet j  shook  hands  with 
one  of  the  ladies.  She  was  a  little  actress,  delicate, 
fragile,  almost  inhuman,  with  charm  in  all  she  did. 


MULTITUDE  AXD  SOLITUDE  85 

She  said  that  she  had  been  reading  his  book  of  The 
Handful,  and  had  found  it  very  "  interesting."  She 
wanted  Roger  to  come  to  tea,  to  talk  over  a  scheme  of 
hers.  It  dawned  on  Roger  that  she  was  saving  him 
from  his  friends. 

"  You're  the  man  of  the  moment,"  said  the  poet. 

"  Don't  YOU  pay  any  attention  to  any  of  them,"  said 
the  painter  who  had  first  spoken.  "  You  may  be  quite 
sure  that  when  one  has  to  say  a  thing  in  a  hurry,  as 
these  critics  must,  one  says  the  easiest  thing,  and  the 
thing  which  comes  handiest  to  say.  If  I  paid  attention 
to  all  they  say  about  me  I  should  be  in  a  lunatic  asy- 
lum. Besides,  what  does  it  matter  what  they  say? 
"Wlio  are  they,  when  all  is  said  ?  " 

The  talk  drifted  into  a  wit  combat,  in  which  the  seven 
set  themselves  to  define  a  critic  with  the  greatest  possi- 
ble pungency  and  precision.  Having  done  this,  to  their 
own  satisfaction,  they  set  themselves  to  the  making  of  a 
composite  sonnet  on  the  critic,  upon  the  backs  of  bills 
of  fare.  One  of  the  painters  drew  an  ideal  critic,  in 
the  manners,  now  of  Tintoret,  now  of  Velasquez,  now 
of  "Watteau.  The  other,  who  complained  that  old  mas- 
ters ought  to  be  ranked  with  critics,  because  they  spoiled 
the  market  for  living  painters,  drew  him  in  the  manner 
of  Rops. 

After  dinner,  Roger  walked  home  by  a  roundabout 
road,  which  took  him  past  his  theatre.  A  few  people 
hung  about  outside  it,  staring  idly  at  a  few  others  who 


86  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

were  entering.  His  plaj  was  still  running,  it  seemed, 
in  spite  of  the  trouble.     Ealempin  was  brave. 

He  walked  back  to  his  rooms,  wondering  why  he  had 
not  gone  to  Ireland  that  night.  London  oppressed  and 
pained  him.  He  thought  it  an  ugly  city,  full  of  ugly 
life.  He  was  without  any  desire  to  be  a  citizen  of  such 
a  city.  He  disliked  the  place  and  her  people;  but  to- 
night, being,  perhaps,  a  little  humbled  by  his  misfor- 
tunes, he  found  himself  wondering  whether  all  the 
squalor  of  the  town,  its  beastly  drinking  dens,  its  mobs 
of  brainless,  inquisitive  shouters,  might  not  be  changed 
suddenly  to  beauty  and  noble  life  by  some  sudden  gen- 
eral inspiration,  such  as  comes  to  nations  at  rare  times 
under  suffering.  He  decided  against  it.  Patience  un- 
der suffering  was  hardly  one  of  our  traits. 

On  his  sitting-room  table  was  a  letter  from  Ottalie, 
bearing  the  London  post-mark  across  the  Greek  stamps, 
and  underneath  them  the  legend,  "  2d.  to  pay."  By 
the  date  on  the  letter  it  had  been  ten  days  in  getting  to 
him.  He  opened  it  eagerly,  half  expecting  to  find  in  it 
the  very  letter  of  the  dream,  though  something  told  him 
that  the  dream-letters  had  contained  her  essential 
thoughts,  the  letter  in  his  hand  the  worldly  covering  of 
those  thoughts,  translated  into  earthly  speech  with  its 
reservations  and  half-heartedness.  He  learned  from 
this  letter  that  she  had  been  for  a  month  in  Greece, 
and  was  now  coming  home.  She  would  be  for  four 
days,  from  the  7th  to  the  11th,  at  her  flat  in  London. 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  8Y 

She  hoped  to  see  him  there,  before  she  returned  to  Ire- 
land. To  his  amazement  the  postscript  ran :  "  I  have 
read  your  last  book.  It  reads  like  the  diary  of  a  lost 
soul,"  the  very  words  seen  by  him  in  dream.  For  the 
moment  this  did  not  move  him  so  deeply  as  the  thought 
that  this  was  the  11th  of  the  month.  She  had  been 
in  London  with  him  for  the  last  three  or  four  days, 
and  he  had  never  known  it.  He  had  seen  her  light 
blown  out  the  night  before.  If  he  had  had  a  little 
sense  he  would  have  called  on  her  early  that  morn- 
ing before  he  had  breakfasted.  Had  he  done  so,  he 
would  have  seen  her,  he  would  have  driven  with  her 
to  the  station,  he  could,  perhaps,  have  travelled  with  her 
to  Ireland.  The  bitterness  of  his  disappointment  made 
him  think,  for  a  moment,  meanly  of  Agatha,  who,  in  his 
fancy,  had  kept  them  apart.  He  suspected  that  Agatha 
had  held  back  the  letter.  How  else  could  it  have  been 
posted  in  London  with  Greek  stamps  upon  it  ? 

Then  came  the  thought  that  she  had  not  gone  to  Ire- 
land that  morning.  He  had  never  known  her  go  back 
to  Ireland  by  the  day-boats.  She  liked  to  sleep  in  the 
train,  and  save  the  daylight  for  life.  His  knowledge 
of  her  told  him  what  had  happened.  She  had  taken 
her  luggage  to  the  station,  soon  after  breakfast.  Hav- 
ing done  this,  she  had  passed  the  day  in  amusement, 
dined  at  the  station  hotel,  and  now  — 

He  sat  down,  beaten  by  this  last  disappointment. 
Now  she  was  steaming  north  in  the  night  express  to 


88  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITIDK 

Port  Patrick.  She  had  only  just  gouc.  JShe  was 
within  a  dozen  miles  of  him.  The  train  did  not  start 
till  eight.  It  was  now  only  fourteen  minutes  past.  If 
he  had  not  been  a  fool ;  if  he  had  only  come  home  in- 
stead of  going  to  the  station ! 

"  Selina,"  he  cried  down  to  the  basement,  "  when  did 
this  letter  come  ?     This  letter  with  the  foreign  stamp." 

"Just  after  you'd  gone  out  this  morning,  sir." 

Five  minutes'  patience  would  have  altered  his  life. 

"  A  lady  come  to  see  you,  sir." 

"  What  was  her  name  ?  " 

"  She  didn't  leave  a  name,  sir." 

"  What  was  she  like  ?     When  did  she  come  ?  " 

"  She  came  about  a  few  minutes  before  nine,  sir. 
She  seemed  very  put  out  at  not  finding  you." 

"  Had  she  been  here  before  ?  " 

"I  think  she  was  the  lady  come  here  one  time  with 
another  lady,  a  dark  lady,  when  you  'ad  the  suite  up- 
stairs, sir.  I  think  she  come  in  one  evenin'  when  you 
read  to  them." 

Ottalie  had  been  there.     It  must  have  been  Ottalie. 

"  I  told  her  you  was  gone  awy,  sir.  You  'adn't  said 
where  to." 

He  thanked  Selina.  He  bit  his  lips  lest  he  should 
ask  whether  the  visitor  had  worn  earrings.  He  went 
back  into  his  room  and  sat  down.  He  had  not  realised 
till  then  how  much  Ottalie  meant  to  him.  A  voice  rang 
in  his  brain  that  he  had  missed  her,  missed  her  by  a 


MULTITUDE  AXI)  SOLITUDE  89 

few  minutes,  through  his  own  impatience,  through  some 
chance,  through  some  juggling  against  him  of  the  pow- 
ers outside  life.  All  his  misery  seemed  rolled  into  a 
leaden  ball,  which  was  smashing  through  his  brain. 
The  play  was  a  little  thing.  The  loss  of  John  was  a 
little  thing.  Templeton  was  farcical,  the  critics  were 
little  gnats,  but  to  have  missed  Ottalic,  to  have  lost  Ot- 
talie!     He  tasted  a  moment  of  despair. 

Despair  does  not  last  long.  It  kills,  or  it  goads  to 
action.  With  Roger  it  lasted  for  a  few  seconds,  and 
then  changed  to  a  passion  to  be  on  the  way  to  her. 
But  he  would  have  to  wait,  he  would  have  to  wait. 
There  were  all  those  interminable  hours  to  wait.  All  a 
whole  night  of  purgatory.  What  could  he  do  mean- 
while ?  How  could  he  pass  that  night  ?  Wliat  could 
he  do?  Work  was  impossible.  Talk  was  impossible. 
He  remembered  then,  another  thing. 

He  opened  his  Bradshaw  feverishly.  Yes.  There 
was  another  boat-train  to  Holyhead.  He  could  be  in 
Dublin  a  little  after  dawTi  the  next  day;  "8.45  from 
Euston."  He  could  just  do  it.  He  would  catch  that 
second  boat-train.  It  was  a  bare  chance;  but  it  could 
be  done.  He  could  be  with  Ottalie  by  the  afternoon  of 
the  next  day.  But  money;  he  had  not  enough  money. 
Five  minutes  to  pack.  He  could  spare  that;  but  how 
about  money  ?  To  whom  could  he  go  for  money  ? 
Who  would  have  money  to  lend  upon  the  instant  ?  It 
would  luive  to  be  some  one  near  at  hand.     Everv  second 


90  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

made  his  task  harder.  Where  would  there  be  a  cab? 
Which  of  his  friends  lived  on  the  way  to  Euston? 
Who  lives  between  Westminster  and  Euston  ?  It  is  all 
park,  and  slum,  and  boarding-house.  Big  Ben,  lifting 
his  voice,  intoned  the  quarter. 

He  caught  a  cab  outside  Dean's  Yard.  He  drove  to 
a  friend  in  Thames  Chambers.  The  friend  lent  him  a 
sovereign  and  some  loose  silver.  He  had  enough  now 
to  take  him  to  Ireland.  He  bade  the  cabman  to  hurry. 
The  newsboys  were  busy  in  the  Strand.  They  were 
calling  out  something  about  winner,  and  disaster.  He 
saw  one  newsbill  flutter  out  from  a  man's  hand. 
"  British  Liner  Lost,"  ran  the  heading.  He  felt  re- 
lieved that  the  monkey-mind  had  now  something  new  to 
occupy  it.  The  changing  of  the  newsbill  heading  made 
him  feel  cleaner. 

Up  to  the  crossing  of  Holborn,  he  felt  that  he  would 
catch  the  train.  At  Holborn  the  way  was  barred  by 
traffic.  The  Euston  Road  was  also  barred  to  him.  He 
missed  the  train  by  rather  more  than  a  minute.  He 
was  too  tired  to  feel  more  disappointment.  The  best 
thing  for  him  to  do,  he  thought,  would  be  to  sleep  at 
home,  catch  the  boat-train  in  the  morning  and  travel 
all  day.  That  plan  would  land  him  in  Ireland  within 
twenty-four  hours.  He  could  then  either  stay  a  night 
in  port,  or  post  the  forty  miles  to  his  cottage.  In  any 
case  he  would  be  with  Ottalie,  actually  in  her  very  pres- 
ence, within  forty  hours.     By  posting  the  forty  miles 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  91 

he  might  watch  the  next  night  outside  her  window,  in 
the  deep  peace  of  the  Irish  country,  almost  within  sound 
of  the  sea.  The  thought  of  the  great  stars  sweeping 
over  Ottalie's  home,  and  of  the  moon  coming  up,  filling 
the  valley,  and  of  the  little  wind  which  trembled  the 
leaves,  giving,  as  it  were,  speech  to  the  beauty  of  the 
night,  moved  him  intensely.  In  his  overwrought  mood, 
these  things  were  the  only  real  things.  The  rest  was 
all  nightmare. 

Driving  back  from  Euston,  he  noticed  another  affiche, 
bearing  the  words,  "  Steamer  Sunk.  Lives  Lost."  He 
paid  no  attention  to  it.  He  wondered  vaguely,  as  he 
had  often  wondered  in  the  past,  what  kind  of  a  mind 
browsed  upon  these  things.  A  disaster,  an  attack  upon 
the  Government,  and  a  column  of  betting  news.  That 
was  what  God's  image  brooded  upon,  night  after  night. 
That  was  what  God's  image  wrote  about  nightly,  after 
an  expensive  education. 

He  was  very  tired ;  but  there  could  be  no  rest  for  him 
till  he  had  enquired  after  Mrs.  Pollock.  She  had  given 
birth  to  a  little  girl,  who  was  likely  to  live.  She  her- 
self was  very  weak,  but  not  in  serious  danger.  Pollock 
was  making  good  resolutions  in  a  mist  of  cigarette 
smoke.  Roger  was  not  wanted  there.  He  went  home, 
to  bed,  tired  out.     He  slept  heavily. 

He  was  fresh  ^nd  merry  the  next  morning.  He 
packed  at  leisure,  breakfasted  at  ease,  and  drove  away 
to  the  station,  feeling  like  a  boy  upon  a  holiday.     He 


92  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

was  leaving  this  grimy,  gritty  wilderness.  He  was  go- 
ing to  forget  all  about  it.  In  a  few  hours  he  would  be 
over  the  border,  in  a  new  land.  That  night  he  would 
be  over  the  sea,  so  changed,  and  in  a  land  so  different, 
that  all  this  would  seem  like  a  horrid,  far-away  dream, 
indescribably  squalid  and  useless.  London  was  a 
strong,  poisonous  drug,  to  be  taken  in  minute  doses. 
He  was  going  to  take  a  strong  corrective. 

The  train  journey  was  long  and  slow ;  but  after  Car- 
lisle was  passed,  his  mind  began  to  feel  the  excitement 
of  it.  In  a  couple  of  hours  he  would  be  in  a  steamer, 
standing  well  forward,  watching  for  the  double  lights  to 
flash,  and  the  third  light,  farther  to  the  south,  to  blink 
and  gleam.  The  dull,  low,  Scottish  landscape,  where 
Burns  lived  and  Keats  tramped,  gave  way  to  irregular 
low  hills,  indescribably  lonely,  with  boggy  lowland  be- 
neath them  and  forlorn  pools.  He  looked  out  for  one 
such  pool.  He  had  often  noticed  it  before,  on  his  jour- 
neys that  way.  It  was  a  familiar  landmark  to  him. 
Like  all  the  rest  of  that  Scottish  land,  it  was  associated 
in  his  mind  with  Ottalie.  All  the  journey  was  associ- 
ated with  her.  He  had  travelled  past  those  hills  and 
pools  so  often,  only  to  see  her,  that  they  had  become  a 
sort  of  ritual  to  him,  a  part  of  seeing  her,  something 
which  inevitably  led  to  her.  After  the  hill  with  the 
cairn,  he  saw  his  landmark.  There  glittered  the  pool 
under  the  last  of  the  sun.  The  little  lonely  island,  not 
big  enough  for  a  peel,  but  big  enough,  years  ago,  for  a 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  93 

lake-dwelling,  shone  out  in  a  glimmer  of  withered 
grass.  A  few  bents,  bristling  the  shallows,  bowed  and 
bowed  and  bowed  as  the  wind  blew.  A  reef  of  black 
rocks  glided  out  at  the  pool's  end,  like  an  eel  swimming. 
Eoger  again  had  the  fancy,  which  had  risen  in  his 
mind  before  a  dozen  times,  when  passing  the  pool,  that 
he  would  like  to  be  a  boy  there,  with  a  toy  boat.  An- 
other landmark  tenderly  looked  for,  was  a  little  white 
house  rather  far  from  the  line,  high  up  on  the  moor. 
He  had  once  thought  (in  passing)  that  that  would  be 
a  pleasant  place  for  a  week's  stay  when  he  and  Ottalie 
were  married.  The  tenderness  of  the  original  fancy 
lingered  still.  It  had  become  an  inevitable  part  of  the 
journey.  After  a  few  minutes  of  looking,  it  came  into 
view,  newly  whitewashed,  or,  it  may  be,  merely  very 
bright  in  the  sunset.  A  woman  stood  at  a  little  gar- 
den gate.  He  had  seen  her  there  once  before.  Per- 
haps she  looked  out  for  this  evening  train.  It  might  be 
an  event  in  her  life.  She  must  be  very  lonely  there, 
so  many  miles  from  anwhere.  After  this,  he  saw 
only  one  more  landmark,  a  copse  of  spruce-fir  by  the 
line.  A  faint  mist  was  gathering.  There  was  going  to 
be  a  fog.     The  boat  would  make  a  slow  passage. 

The  mist  was  dim  over  everything  when  the  train 
stopped.  He  got  out  on  to  a  platform  which  was  wet 
with  mist.  "Wet  milk-cans  gleamed.  Rails  shone  be- 
low his  feet.  A  bulk  of  a  mail-train  rose  up,  vacant 
and  dim.     People  shouted  and  passed.     There  was  a 


94  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

hot  whiff  of  ship's  engine.  A  man  passed,  with  nervous 
hurry,  carrying  two  teacups  from  the  refreshment- 
room.  Somebody  cried  out  to  come  along  with  the 
mails.  An  Irish  voice  answered  excitedly,  with  a  witty 
bitterness  which  defined  the  owner  to  Roger,  in  vivid 
outline.  Mist  came  driving  down  under  the  shed.  A 
few  moist  steps  took  him  to  a  rail  of  chains,  beyond 
which  was  motionless  sea,  a  dim,  grey-brown  under  the 
mist,  with  a  gull  or  two  drifting  and  falling.  A  row 
of  lights  dimly  dying  away  beyond,  shewed  him  the 
steamer.  The  gang-way  slanted  down,  dripping  wet 
from  the  handrail.  A  man  was  saying  that  "  Indeed,  it 
was,"  in  the  curt,  charming  accent  of  the  hills. 

He  did  not  recognise  the  steamer.  Her  name,  seen 
upon  a  life-belt,  was  new  to  him.  He  did  not  remem- 
ber a  Lady  of  Lyons  on  this  line.  He  laid  his  bag  in  a 
corner  of  the  saloon,  where  already  timid  ladies  were 
preparing  for  the  worst,  by  lying  down,  under  rugs, 
with  bottles  of  salts  at  hand.  The  smell  of  the  saloon, 
the  smells  of  disinfectant,  oil,  rubber,  and  food,  mixed 
with  the  sickliness  of  a  place  half  aired  and  over- 
heated, drove  him  on  deck  again.  An  elderly  man  was 
telling  his  wife  that  it  had  been  a  terrible  business. 
The  lady  answered  with  the  hope  that  nothing  would 
happen  to  them,  for  what  would  poor  Eddie  do  ? 

Somebody  near  the  gangway,  a  hills-man  by  his 
speech,  probably  the  ticket-collector,  or  mate,  was  speak- 
ing in  the  intervals  of  work.     He  was  checking  the 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  95 

slinging-in  of  crates,  and  talking  to  an  acquaintance. 
Roger  had  no  wish  to  hear  him.  He  was  impatient  for 
the  ship  to  start.  But  sitting  down  there,  wrapped  in 
his  mackintosh,  he  could  not  help  overhearing  odds  and 
ends  of  a  story  among  the  clack  of  the  winches.  Some- 
thing terrible  had  happened,  and  Tom  would  know 
about  it,  and,  indeed,  it  was  a  sad  thing  for  the  widow 
O'Hara;  but  it  was  a  quick  death,  anjnvay,  and  might 
come  on  any  man,  for  the  matter  of  that.  Indeed,  it 
was  a  quick  death,  and  the  fault  lay  in  these  fogs,  which 
never  gave  a  man  a  chance  till  she  was  right  on  top  of 
you.  What  use  were  sidelights,  when  a  fog  might  make 
a  headlight  as  red  as  blood  ?  She  had  come  right  into 
her,  just  abaft  the  bridge,  and  cut  her  clean  down. 
They  never  saw  a  stim  of  her.  She  wasn't  even  sound- 
ing her  horn.  Yes.  One  of  these  big  five-masted  Yan- 
kee schooners.  The  Jolin  P.  Graves.  Just  out  of 
Glasgow.  They  hadn't  even  a  look-out  set.  Taking 
her  chance.  Her  crowd  was  drunk.  And  one  of  the 
dead  was  an  English  wumman  only  married  that  morn- 
ing. No.  The  man  was  saved.  Like  a  stunned  man. 
The  most  of  the  bodies  was  ashore  to  the  wast  of  the 
light.     There  was  a  fierce  jobble  wast  of  the  light. 

There  had  been  a  collision  somewhere.  There  were 
always  being  collisions.  Roger  listened,  and  ceased  to 
listen,  thinking  of  that  "  Steamer  Sunk,  Lives  Lost  " 
on  the  London  placard.  He  thought  that  these  vivid, 
picturesque  talkers,  professional  men,  but  full  of  feel- 


96  MULTITUDE  AIN^D  SOLITUDE 

ing,  gave  such  an  event  a  kind  of  poetry,  and  made  it  a 
part  of  their  lives,  while  the  paper-reader,  very  far 
away  in  the  city,  glanced  at  it,  among  a  dozen  similar 
events,  none  of  them  closely  brought  home  to  him,  or, 
indeed,  to  be  understood  by  him,  and  dismissed  the  mat- 
ter with  an  indifferent  "Really.  How  ghastly!" 
He  reproved  himself  for  thinking  thus.  This  collision 
had  affected  the  men  near  him  in  their  daily  business. 
Londoners  were  affected  by  disasters  which  touched 
themselves.  This  disaster,  whatever  it  was,  did  not 
touch  him.  He  was  in  a  contrary,  bitter  mood,  too 
much  occupied  with  himself  to  feel  for  others.  He  was 
thinking  that  the  men  who  did  most  were  self-centred 
men,  shut  away  from  the  world  without.  A  snail,  sud- 
denly stung  on  the  tender  horn,  may  think  similarly. 

It  was  dark  night,  but  clear  enough,  when  they 
reached  Ireland.  The  lights  in  the  bay  shone  as  be- 
fore. The  lights  on  the  island  had  not  changed.  One, 
high  up,  which  he  had  often  noticed,  was  as  like  a 
star  as  ever.  Little  glimmers  of  light  danced  before 
him,  as  he  dined  in  the  hotel,  attended  by  a  grave  old 
waiter.  The  hotel  was  fuller  than  usual  at  that  time 
of  year.  It  was  full  of  restless,  anxious,  sad-looking 
people,  some  of  whom  had  been  with  him  in  the  boat. 
They  gave  him  the  fancy  that  they  had  all  come  over 
for  a  funeral.     After  supping,  he  went  hurriedly  to  bed. 

In  the  morning,  at  breakfast,  there  were  the  same 
sad-looking  people.     They  sat  at  the  next  table,  talking 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  97 

in  subdued  voices,  drinking  tea.  They  were  breakfast- 
ing on  tea.  An  old  woman  with  that  hard,  commercial 
face,  assumed  by  predatory  natures  without  energy, 
mothered  the  party.  Her  red  eyes,  swollen  by  weeping, 
emphasised  the  vulpine  in  her.  A  late-comer  rustled 
up.  "  Alice  won't  come  down,"  she  said.  "  She'll 
have  some  tea  upstairs." 

The  old  woman,  calling  a  maid,  sent  tea  to  Alice.  A 
pale  girl,  daughter  to  the  matron  in  all  but  spirit, 
snuffled  on  the  perilous  brink,  worn  out  by  grief  and 
weariness.  The  old  woman  rebuked  her.  "  We  shall 
have  to  be  starting  in  a  minute."  She  had  that  cast- 
iron  nature  limited  to  itself.  Roger  wondered  whether 
in  old  Rome,  or  Puritan  England,  that  kind  of  character 
had  been  consciously  bred  in  the  race.  He  changed  his 
table. 

The  waiter  brought  him  a  newspaper.  He  fingered 
it,  and  left  it  untouched.  He  was  not  going  to  open  a 
paper  till  he  could  be  sure  that  the  uproar  about  him  had 
been  forgotten.  He  was  a  timorous,  hunted  hart.  The 
hounds  should  not  follow  him  into  this  retreat.  He  de- 
bated as  he  ate,  whether  he  should  bicycle,  take  the 
"  long  car,"  a  forty-mile  drive,  or  take  train.  Finally, 
seeing  that  the  roads  were  dry,  and  the  wind  not  bad, 
he  decided  to  ride,  sending  his  baggage  by  the  car.  He 
liked  riding  to  Ottalie.  It  was  a  difficult  ride,  he 
thought,  owing  to  the  blasts  which  beat  down  from  the 
hills,  but  there  came  a  moment,  as  he  well  remembered, 


98  MULTITUDE  AKD  SOLITUDE 

rather  near  to  the  end  of  the  journey,  when  the  hills 
gave  place  to  mountains.  Here  the  road,  topping  a 
crest,  fell  away,  shewing  a  valley  and  a  stretch  of  sea. 
Hills  and  headlands  rolled  north  in  ranks  to  a  bluish 
haze.  The  crag  beyond  all  rose  erect  from  the  surf, 
an  upright,  defined  line  in  the  blueness.  Erom  Ot- 
talie's  home,  high  up,  he  could  see  that  great  crag. 
With  an  opera-glass  he  could  see  the  surf  bursting  be- 
low it.  It  was  now  eight  o'clock.  The  morning  boat 
was  coming  in.  He  would  start.  By  lunch-time  he 
would  be  in  his  little  cottage  above  the  sea.  He  would 
swim  before  lunch.  After  lunch  he  would  climb 
through  the  long  grey  avenue  of  beeches  to  Ottalie's 
home.  The  old  excitement  came  over  him  to  give  to 
his  ardour  the  memory  of  many  other  rides  to  her. 

Riding  through  the  squalid  town  he  found  himself 
reckoning  up  little  curious  particular  details  of  things 
seen  by  him  on  similar  journeys  in  the  past.  The  clat- 
ter of  the  "  long  car "  behind  him  made  him  spurt 
ahead.  It  was  a  point  of  vanity  with  him  to  beat  the 
car  over  the  forty-mile  course.  The  last  thing  noticed 
by  him  as  he  cleared  the  towu  was  a  yellow  affiche,  bear- 
ing the  legend: 

"  LOSS  OF  THE  '  LORD  ULLIN  ' 
"  CORONER'S  VERDICT." 


One  news  straight  came  huddling  on  another 
Of  death,  and  death,  and  death. 

The  Broken  Heart. 

THE  sun  was  golden  over  all  the  marvel  of  Ire- 
land. The  sea  came  in  sight  from  time  to 
time.  Beyond  a  cliff  castle  a  gannet  dropped, 
white  and  swift,  with  a  splash  which  faintly  came  to 
him  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away.  Turning  inland,  he 
rode  into  the  hills.  Little  low  rolling  green  hills, 
wooded  and  sunny,  lay  ahead.  On  each  side  of  him 
were  pastures  unspeakably  green,  sleepily  cropped  by 
cattle.  He  set  himself  to  ride  hard  through  this  bright 
land.  He  spurted  up  the  little  hills,  dipped  down,  and 
again  climbed.  He  was  eager  to  reach  a  gate  on  a  hill- 
top, from  which  he  could  see  the  headland  which  shut 
him  from  the  land  of  his  desire.  As  he  rode,  he  thought 
burningly  of  what  that  afternoon  would  be  to  him. 
Ottalie  might  not  be  there.  She  might  be  away.  She 
might  be  out;  but  something  told  him  she  would  be 
there.  With  Ottalie  in  the  world,  the  world  did  not 
matter  greatly.  The  thought  of  Ottalie  gave  him  a  fine 
sense,  only  properly  enjoyed  in  youth,  of  his  own  su- 
periority to  the  world.     With  a  thumping  heart,  due 

99 


100  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

not  to  emotion,  but  to  riding  uphill,  he  climbed  the 
gate,  and  looked  out  over  the  beautiful  fields  to  the 
distant  headland.  There  it  lay,  gleaming,  fifteen  miles 
away.  Beyond  it  was  Ottalie.  Protesters,  in  old,  un- 
happy far-off  times,  had  painted  a  skull  and  cross-bones 
on  the  gate,  as,  in  other  parts,  they  dug  graves  at  front 
doors,  or  fired  with  lucky  slugs  from  cover.  The  bones 
were  covered  with  lichen,  now;  but  the  skull  grinned 
at  Eoger  friendly,  as  it  had  often  grinned.  Eiding  on, 
and  glancing  back  over  his  shoulder,  at  risk  of  going 
into  the  ditch,  he  saw  the  skull's  eyes  fixed  upon  him. 

The  last  part  of  the  ride  was  downhill.  He  lifted  his 
bicycle  over  a  low  stone  wall,  and  vaulted  over  after  it. 
The  sea  was  within  fifty  yards  of  him,  in  brimming 
flood.  Norah  Kennedy,  the  old  woman  who  kept  house 
for  him,  was  there  at  the  door,  looking  out. 

"  Indeed,  Mr.  Naldrett,"  she  began ;  "  the  blessing 
of  God  on  you.  I  was  feared  the  boat  was  gone  down 
on  you.  It's  a  sad  time  this  for  you  to  be  coming  here. 
Indeed,  I  never  saw  you  looking  better.  You're  liker 
your  mother  than  your  da.  He  was  a  grand  man,  your 
da,  of  all  the  folks  ever  I  remember.  Indeed,  your 
dinner  is  just  ready  for  you.     Will  I  wet  the  tea,  sir  ?  " 

The  old  woman  rambled  on  from  subject  to  subject, 
glancing  at  each,  so  lightly,  that  one  less  used  to  her 
ways  would  not  have  suspected  the  very  shrewd  and 
bitter  critic  hidden  beneath  the  charm  of  the  superficial 
nature.     Roger  felt  somehow  that  the  critic  was  alert 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  101 

in  her,  that  she  resented  something  in  his  manner  or 
dress.  He  concluded  that  he  was  late,  or  that  she, 
perhaps  in  her  zeal  for  him,  had  put  on  the  joint  too 
early.  As  usual,  when  she  was  not  pleased,  she  served 
the  dinner  muttering  personal  remarks,  not  knowing 
(as  is  the  way  with  lonely  old  people,  who  talk  to  them- 
selves) that  they  were  sometimes  audible.  "  I'll  do  you 
no  peas  for  your  supper,  my  man,"  was  one  of  her 
asides,  when  he  helped  himself  sparingly  to  peas.  "  It's 
easy  seen  you're  only  an  Englishman,"  was  another,  at 
his  national  diffidence  towards  a  potato.  Roger  won- 
dered what  was  wrong,  and  how  soon  he  would  become 
again  "  the  finest  young  man  ever  I  remember,  except 
perhaps  it  was  your  da.  Indeed,  Mr.  Roger,  to  see  your 
da,  and  him  riding  wast  in  a  red  coat,  you  would  think 
it  was  the  Queen's  man,*  or  one  of  the  Saints  of  God. 
There  was  no  one  I  ever  seen  had  the  glory  on  him  your 
da  had,  unless  it  was  yourself  stepping."  Roger's  da 
had  died  of  drink  there,  after  a  life  passed  in  the 
preservation  of  the  game  laws. 

Wlien  his  baggage  arrived,  he  dressed  carefully,  and 
set  out  up  the  hill  to  Ottalie's  house,  which  he  could 
see,  even  from  his  cottage,  as  a  white,  indeterminate 
mass,  screened  by  trees  from  sea-winds.  The  road 
branched  off  into  a  loaning,  hedged  with  tumbled  stone 
on  each  side.  As  he  climbed  the  loaning,  the  roguish 
Irish  bulls,  coming  in  a  gallop,  at  the  sound  of  his  feet, 

*  The  late  Prince  Consort. 


102  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

peered  down  at  him,  through  hedges  held  together  by 
Providence,  or  left  to  the  bulls'  imagination.  A  lusty 
white  bull  followed  him  for  some  time,  restrained  only 
by  a  foot-high  wire. 

"  Indeed,"  said  an  old  labourer,  who,  resting  by  the 
way,  expressed  sympathy  both  for  Roger  and  the  bull, 
"  he's  only  a  young  bull.  He  wad  do  no  one  anny 
hurrt,  except  maybe  he  felt  that  way.  Let  you  not 
trouble,  sir." 

Up  above  Ottalie's  house  was  the  garden.  The 
garden  wall  backed  upon  the  loaning.  A  little  blue 
door  with  peeling,  blistered  paint,  let  him  into  the 
garden,  into  a  long,  straight  rose-walk,  in  which  the 
roses  had  not  yet  begun  to  bloom.  A  sweet-smelling 
herb  grew  by  the  door.  He  crumpled  a  leaf  of  it  be- 
tween his  fingers,  thinking  how  wonderful  the  earth 
was,  which  could  grow  this  fragrance,  out  of  mould 
and  rain.  The  bees  were  busy  among  the  flowers. 
The  laurustine  was  giving  out  sweetness.  In  the  sun 
of  that  windless  afternoon,  the  smell  thickened  the  air 
above  the  path,  making  it  a  warm  clot  of  perfume,  to 
breathe  which  was  to  breathe  beginning  life.  Butter- 
flies wavered,  keeping  low  down,  in  the  manner  of  but- 
terflies near  the  coast.  Birds  made  musical  calls,  sud- 
den delightful  exclamations,  startling  laughter,  as 
though  the  god  Pan  laughed  to  himself  among  the 
laurustine  bushes. 

He  felt  the  beauty  of  the  late  Irish  season  as  he  had 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  103 

never  before  felt  it.  It  stirred  him  to  the  excitement 
which  is  bejoud  poetry,  to  that  delighted  sensitiveness, 
in  vv^hich  the  mind,  tremulously  open,  tremulously  alive, 
can  neither  select  nor  combine.  He  longed  to  be  writ- 
ing poetry;  but  in  the  open  air  the  imagination  is  sub- 
ordinated to  the  senses.  The  lines  which  formed  in  his 
mind  were  meaningless  exclamations,  l^ature  is  a  set- 
ting, merely.  The  soul  of  man,  which  alone,  of  created 
things,  regards  her,  is  the  important  thing. 

The  blinds  of  the  sunny  southern  front  were  drawn 
down ;  but  the  marks  of  carriage  wheels  upon  the  drive 
shewed  him  that  she  had  returned.  After  ringing,  he 
listened  for  the  crackled  tinkle  far  away  in  the  kitchen, 
and  turning,  saw  a  squirrel  leap  from  one  beech  to  an- 
other, followed  by  three  or  four  sparrows.  Footsteps 
shuffled  near.  Somewhere  outside,  at  the  back,  an  old 
woman's  voice  asked  whiningly  for  a  bit  of  bread,  for 
the  love  of  the  Almighty  God,  since  she  was  perished 
with  walking  and  had  a  cough  on  her  that  would  raise 
pity  in  a  martial  man.  A  younger  voice,  high,  clear, 
and  hard,  bidding  her  whisht,  and  let  her  get  out  of  it, 
ceased  suddenly,  in  her  prohibition.  The  door  opened. 
There  was  old  Mary  Laverty,  the  housekeeper. 

"  How  are  you,  Mary  ?     Are  you  quite  well  ?  " 

"  I  am,  sir.     I  thank  you." 

"Is  Miss  Fawcett  in?" 

"  Have  you  not  heard,  sir  ?  " 

"  Heard  what  ?  " 


104  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

"  Miss  OttaLah's  dead,  sir." 

"  What  ?  " 

"  She  was  drowned  in  the  boat  that  was  nm  into, 
crossing  the  sea,  two  days  ago.  There  was  a  fog,  sir. 
Did  no  one  tell  you,  sir  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  There  was  eleven  of  them  drowned,  sir." 

"  Was  she  ...  Is  she  lying  here  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.  She's  within.  The  burying  will  no  be 
till  Saturday.     She  is  no  chested  yet." 

"  Was  Miss  Agatha  with  her  ? " 

"  Miss  Agatha  was  not  in  the  cabbon.  She  was  not 
wetted,  indeed.  She  had  not  so  much  as  her  skirrt 
wetted,  sir.     She  is  within,  sir." 

"  Do  you  think  she  would  see  me  ? " 

"  Come  in,  sir.     I  will  ask." 

He  stepped  in,  feeling  stmmed.  His  mind  gave  him 
an  image  of  something  hauled  ashore.  There  was  an 
image  of  a  dripping  thing  being  carried  by  men  up  the 
drive,  the  gravel  crunched  under  their  boots  —  crunch 
—  crunch  in  slow  time,  then  a  rest  at  the  door,  and  then, 
slowly,  into  the  hall,  and  drip,  drip,  up  the  stairs  to  the 
darkened  bedroom.  Then  out  again,  reverently,  fum- 
bling their  hats,  to  talk  about  it  with  the  cook.  He  did 
not  realise  what  had  happened.  Here  he  was  in  the 
room.  There  was  his  photograph.  There  was  the 
Oriental  bowl  full  of  potpourri.  Ottalie  had  been 
drowned.     Ottalie  was  lying  upstairs,  a  dead  thing, 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  105 

with  neither  voice  nor  movement.  Ottalie  was  dead. 
She  had  sat  with  him  in  that  very  room.  The  old  pre- 
cise sofa  was  her  favourite  seat.  How  could  she  be 
dead  ?  She  had  been  in  London,  asking  for  him,  only 
two  days  before.  Her  letter  was  in  his  pocket.  There 
was  her  music.  There  was  her  violin.  Why  did  she 
not  come  in,  as  of  old,  with  her  smiling  daintiness,  and 
with  her  hands  in  great  gardening  gauntlets  clasping 
tulips  for  the  jars?  That  beauty  was  over  for  the 
world. 

He  was  stunned  by  it.  He  did  not  know  what  was 
happening;  but  there  was  Agatha,  motioning  to  him 
not  to  get  up.  He  said  something  about  pity.  "  I 
pity  you."  After  a  minute,  he  added,  "  My  God !  " 
He  was  trying  to  say  something  to  comfort  her.  The 
change  in  her  told  him  that  it  was  all  true.  It  branded 
it  into  him.  Ottalie  was  dead,  and  this  was  what  it 
meant  to  the  world.     This  was  death,  this  horror. 

His  mind  groped  about  like  a  fainting  man  for  some- 
thing to  clutch.  Baudelaire's  lines  rose  up  before  him. 
The  sentiment  of  French  decadence,  with  its  fancy  of 
ingratitude,  made  him  shudder.  A  turmoil  of  quota- 
tions seethed  and  died  down  in  him,  "  And  is  old  Double 
dead  ?  "  "  Come  away,  death,"  with  a  phrase  of  Arne's 
setting.     A  wandering  strange  phrase  of  Grieg. 

He  went  up  to  Agatha  and  took  her  hands. 

"  You  poor  thing ;  you  poor  thing,"  he  repeated. 
"  My  God,  you  poor  women  suffer !  "     The  clock  was 


106  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

ticking  all  the  time.  Some  one  was  bringing  tea  to  the 
next  room.  The  lines  in  the  Persian  rug  had  a  horrible 
regularity.  "  Agatha,"  he  said.  Afterwards  he  be- 
lieved that  he  kissed  her,  and  that  she  thanked  him. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  don't  know,"  she  said.  "  Oh, 
I'm  so  very  wretched.  So  wretched.  So  wretched. 
And  I  can't  die."     She  shook  in  a  passion  of  tears. 

"  She  was  wonderful,"  he  said,  choking.  "  She  was 
so  beautiful.     All  she  did." 

"  She  was  with  me  a  minute  before,"  said  Agatha. 
"  We  were  on  deck.  She  went  down  to  get  a  wrap. 
It  was  so  cold  in  the  fog.  I  had  left  her  wraps  in  the 
dining-room.     It  was  my  fault." 

"  Don't  say  that,  Agatha.     That's  nonsense." 

"  I  never  saw  her  again.  It  all  happened  at  once. 
The  next  instant  we  were  run  into.  I  couldn't  see 
anything.  There  was  a  crash,  which  made  us  heel  right 
over,  and  then  there  was  a  panic.  I  didn't  know  what 
had  happened.  I  tried  to  get  down  to  her;  but  a  lot 
of  half-drunk  tourists  came  raving  and  fighting  to  get 
to  the  boats.  I  couldn't  get  to  the  doors  past  them. 
One  of  them  hit  me  with  his  fist  and  swore  at  me.  The 
ship  was  sinking.  I  nearly  got  to  the  door,  and  then  a 
stewardess  cried  out  that  everybody  was  up  from  below, 
and  then  a  great  brute  of  a  man  flung  me  into  a  boat. 
I  hit  my  head.  When  I  came  to,  I  distinctly  felt  some 
one  pulling  off  my  rings,  and  there  was  a  sort  of  welter- 
ing noise  where  the  ship  had  sunk.     One  of  the  tourists 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  107 

cried  out :  '  Wot-ow !  A  shipwreck ;  oh,  Polly.' 
Everybody  was  shouting  all  round  us,  and  there  w^as  a 
poor  little  child  crying.  I  caught  at  the  hand  which 
was  taking  my  rings."  Here  she  stopped.  There  had 
been  some  final  humiliation  here.  She  went  on  after 
a  moment :  "  The  men  said  that  every  one  had  been 
saved.  I  didn't  know  till  we  all  landed.  Nor  till  after 
that  even.     It  w^as  so  foggy.     Then  I  knew. 

"  There  was  a  very  kind  Scotch  lady  who  took  me  to 
the  hotel.  She  was  very  kind.  I  don't  know  w'ho  she 
was.  The  divers  came  from  Belfast  during  the  night. 
Ottalie  was  in  the  saloon.  She  was  wearing  her  wraps. 
She  must  have  just  put  them  on.  There  were  five 
others  in  the  saloon.  The  inquest  was  ghastly.  One 
of  the  witnesses  was  drunk,  and  the  jury  were  laughing. 
The  waiter  at  the  hotel  knew  me.  He  wired  to  Leslie, 
and  Leslie  hired  a  motor  and  came  over.  Colonel 
Eawcett  is  in  bed  with  sciatica.  Leslie  is  arranging 
everything." 

"  Is  Leslie  here  ?  " 

"  No.  Maggie  has  bronchitis.  He  had  to  go  back. 
He'll  be  here  late  to-night." 

"  I  might  have  been  with  you,  Agatha.  If  I'd  stayed 
in  another  minute  on  Tuesday  morning,  I  should  have 
seen  her.  I  should  have  travelled  with  you.  It 
wouldn't  have  happened.  I  should  have  gone  for  the 
wraps." 

"  We  saw  you  at  your  play,  on  Monday." 


108  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

"  I  didn't  know  you  were  in  town.  Oh,  if  I  had  only 
known !  " 

"  It  was  my  fault  that  you  did  not  know.  I  kept 
back  her  letter  to  you.  I  was  jealous.  I  was  wicked. 
I  think  the  devil  was  in  me." 

"  Don't  think  of  that  now,"  said  Roger  gently.  He 
had  known  it  from  the  first.  "  Is  there  anything  which 
I  can  do,  Agatha  ?     Letters  to  write  ?  " 

"  There  are  stacks  of  letters.  They  all  say  the  same 
thing.  Oh,  I  am  so  wretched,  so  very  wretched !  " 
The  shuddering  took  hold  of  her.  She  wept  in  a  shak- 
ing tremble  which  seemed  to  tear  her  in  pieces. 

"  Agatha,"  said  Eoger,  "  will  you  come  to  Belfast 
with  me  ?  I  will  hire  the  motor  in  the  village.  I  must 
get  some  flowers.     It  would  do  you  good  to  come." 

"  ]^o.  I  must  stay.  I  shall  only  have  her  two  days 
more." 

He  would  have  asked  to  look  upon  Ottalie;  but  he 
refrained,  in  the  presence  of  that  passion.  Agatha  had 
enough  to  bear.  He  would  not  flick  her  jealousies. 
Ottalie  was  lying  just  overhead,  within  a  dozen  feet  of 
him.  Ten  minutes  ago  he  had  been  thinking  of  her  as 
a  lover  thinks  of  his  beloved.  His  heart  had  been 
leaping  with  the  thought  of  her.  There  she  was,  in  that 
quiet  room,  behind  the  blinds,  lying  on  the  bed,  still  and 
blank.  And  where  was  what  had  made  her  so  wonder- 
ful ?  Where  was  the  spirit  who  had  used  her  as  a  lodg- 
ing?    She  had  been  all  that  makes  woman  wonderful. 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  109 

Beautiful  with  beauty  of  mind ;  a  perfect,  perfect  spirit. 
And  she  was  dead.  She  was  lying  upstairs  dead.  And 
here  were  her  two  lovers,  listening  to  the  clock,  listening 
to  the  spade-strokes  in  the  garden,  where  old  John  was 
at  work.  The  smell  of  the  potpourri,  which  she  had 
made  the  summer  before,  seemed  as  strong  as  incense. 
The  portrait  by  Raeburn,  of  her  great-grandfather, 
looked  do-^vn  dispassionately,  with  eyes  that  were  very 
like  her  eyes.  The  clock  had  told  the  time  to  that  old 
soldier  when  he  went  to  be  painted.  It  had  gone  ou 
ticking  ever  since.  It  had  been  ticking  when  the  old 
soldier  died,  when  his  son  died,  when  his  grandson  died. 
l^ow  she  was  dead,  and  it  was  ticking  still,  a  solemn  old 
clock,  by  Frodsham,  of  Sackville  Street,  Dublin,  1797, 
the  year  before  the  rising.  It  would  be  ticking  still, 
perhaps,  when  all  the  hearts  then  alive  would  have 
ceased  to  tick.  There  was  something  pitiless  in  that 
steady  beat.  Three  or  four  generations  of  Fawcetts  had 
had  their  lives  measured  by  it,  all  those  beautiful 
women  and  noble  soldiers.  All  the  "  issue  "  mentioned 
in  Burke. 

He  went  out  into  the  light.  All  the  world  seemed 
melted  into  emotion,  and  poured  upon  him.  He  was 
beaten.  It  poured  upon  him.  He  drew  it  in  with  his 
breath.  Everything  within  sight  was  an  agony  with 
memories  of  her.  "  I  must  be  doing  something,"  he 
said  aloud.  "  I  must  get  flowers.  I  shall  wake  up 
presently."     He  turned  at  the  gate,  his  mind  surging. 


110  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

"  Could  Agatha  be  sure  that  she  is  dead  ?  Perhaps  I 
am  dead.     Or  it  may  be  a  dream."     It  was  not  a  dream. 

At  the  bottom  of  the  loaning  he  met  a  red-haired 
man  from  whom  in  old  time  he  had  bought  a  boat. 

"It's  a  fine  day,  sir/'  said  the  man. 

"  John,"  said  Roger,  "  tell  Pat  Deloney  I  want  the 
car,  to  go  to  Belfast  at  once.  I  shall  want  him  to  drive. 
Tell  him  to  come  for  me  here." 

"  Indeed,  sir,"  said  John,  looking  at  him  narrowly. 
"  There's  many  feeling  that  way.  There  was  a  light 
on  her  you'd  think  it  was  a  saint,  and  her  coming  east 
with  brightness." 

After  John  had  gone  do^\^l  to  the  village,  there  limped 
up  an  old,  old,  half-witted  drunken  poet,  who  fiddled 
at  regattas.  He  saluted  Roger,  who  leaned  on  a  gate, 
staring  uphill  towards  the  house. 

"  Indeed,  Mr.  Roger,"  said  the  old  man ;  "  there's 
a  strong  sorrow  on  the  place  this  day.  There  was  a 
light  burning  beyant.  I  seen  the  same  for  her  da,  and 
for  her  da's  da.  There  was  them  beyant  wanted  her." 
He  waited  for  Roger  to  speak,  but  getting  no  answer 
began  to  ramble  in  Irish,  and  then  craved  for  maybe  a 
sixpence,  because  "  indeed,  I  knew  your  da,  Mr.  Roger. 
Ah,  your  da  was  a  grand  man,  would  turn  the  heads  of 
all  the  women,  and  they  great  queens  itself,  having  the 
pick  of  professors  and  prime  ministers  and  any  one 
they'd  a  mind  to." 

After  a  time,  singing  to  himself  in  Irish,  he  limped 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  111 

on  up  the  loaning  to  the  house,  to  beg  maybe  a  bit  of 
bread,  in  exchange  for  the  fact  that  he  had  seen  a  light 
burning  for  her,  just  as  he  had  seen  it  for  her  da,  her 
da's  da,  and  (when  the  kitchen  brandy  had  arisen  in 
him)  her  da's  da's  da  years  ago. 

The  car  came  snorting  up  the  hill,  and  turned  in  the 
broad  expanse  where  the  loaning  joined  the  highway. 
John  opened  the  door  for  Roger.  "  If  I  was  a  young 
gentleman  and  had  the  right  to  do  it,"  he  said,  "  I 
would  go  in  a  cyar  the  like  of  that  cyar  down  all  the 
craggy  precipices  of  the  world."  The  car  shook,  spat, 
and  darted.  "  Will  ye  go  by  Torneymoney  ?  "  said  Pat. 
"  There's  no  rossers  that  way." 

"  By  Torneymoney,"  said  Roger.     "  Drive  hard." 

"  Indeed,"  said  Pat ;  "  we  will  do  great  deeds  this 
day.  We  will  make  a  strong  story  by  the  blessing  of 
God.  Let  you  hold  tight,  your  honour.  There's  holes 
in  this  road  would  give  a  queer  twist  to  a  sea-admiral." 

The  funeral  was  on  Saturday.  About  a  dozen  men 
came.  There  w^ere  five  or  six  Eawcetts  and  old  Mr. 
Laramie,  who  had  married  Maisie  Eawcett,  Ottalie's 
aunt,  one  of  the  beauties  of  her  time.  The  rest  were 
friends  from  the  countryside.  Englishmen  in  faith,  edu- 
cation, and  feeling.  They  stood  with  bared  heads  in 
the  little  lonely  Protestant  graveyard,  as  Roman  sol- 
diers may  have  stood  by  the  pyres  of  their  mates  in 
Britain.  They  were  aliens  there.  They  were  part  of 
the   garrison.     They   w^ere   hiding   under   the   ground 


112  MULTITUDE  A:NrD  SOLITUDE 

something  too  good  and  beautiful  to  belong  to  that  out- 
cast country.  Roger  had  the  fancy  that  God  would 
have  to  be  very  strong  to  hold  that  outpost.  He  had 
not  slept  for  two  nights.  Sentiments  and  fancies  were 
overwhelming  him.  It  was  one  of  those  Irish  days  in 
which  a  quality  or  rarity  in  the  air  gives  a  magic,  either 
alluring  or  terrible,  to  every  bush  and  brook  and  hillock. 
He  had  often  thought  that  Ireland  was  a  haunted  coun- 
try. He  thought  so  now,  standing  by  Ottalie's  grave. 
Just  beyond  the  graveyard  was  the  river,  which  was 
"  bad,"  and  beyond  that  again  a  hill.  The  hill  was  so 
"  bad,"  that  the  beggarwomen,  passing  in  the  road, 
muttering  at  "  the  mouldy  old  Prots,  playing  at  their 
religion,  God  save  us,"  crossed  themselves  as  they  went 
by  it.  Roger  prayed  that  that  fair  spirit  might  be  at 
peace,  among  all  this  invisible  evil.  His  hand  went 
into  his  breast  pocket  from  time  to  time  to  touch  her 
letter  to  him.  He  watched  Leslie  Eawcett,  whose  face 
was  so  like  hers,  and  old  Mr.  Laramie,  who  had  won 
the  beauty  of  her  time,  and  an  old  uncle  Fawcett,  who 
had  fought  in  Africa,  sixty  years  before.  The  graves 
of  other  Eawcetts  lay  in  that  corner  of  the  graveyard. 
He  read  their  names,  remembering  them  from  Burke. 
He  read  the  texts  upon  the  stones.  The  texts  had  been 
put  there  in  agonies  of  remorse  and  love  and  memory  by 
the  men  and  women  who  played  croquet  in  an  old 
daguerreotype  in  Ottalie's  sitting-room.  "  He  giveth 
His  beloved  sleep,"  and  "  It  is  well  with  the  child,"  and 


lUU-Llil  UUJli    AINJJ    i:5UJ^i  1  U  JJJii  116 

one,  a  strange  one,  "  Lord,  have  patience  with  me,  and 
I  will  pay  Thee  all."  They  had  been  beautiful  and 
noble,  these  Fawcetts.  I^ot  strong,  not  clever,  but  won- 
derful. They  had  had  a  spirit,  a  spiritual  quality,  as 
though  for  many,  many  centuries  their  women  had  kept 
themselves  unspotted  by  anything  not  noble.  An  in- 
stinct for  style  running  in  the  race  of  the  Fawcetts  for 
centuries  had  made  them  what  they  were. 

A  hope  burned  up  in  Roger  like  inspiration.  All' 
that  instinct  for  fineness,  that  fastidious  selection  of  the 
right  and  good  which  had  worked  to  make  Ottalie,  from 
long  before  her  birth,  and  had  flowered  in  her,  was 
surely  eternal.  She  had  used  life  to  make  her  character 
beautiful  and  gentle,  just  as  he  had  used  life  to  dis- 
cipline his  mind  to  the  expression  of  his  imagination. 
"  What's  to  come  "  was  still  unsure ;  but  he  felt  sure, 
even  as  the  trembling  old  incumbent  reminded  them 
that  St.  Paul  had  bidden  them  not  to  sorrow,  that  that 
devotion  was  stronger  than  death.  Her  spirit  might  be 
out  in  the  night,  he  thought,  as  in  time  his  w^ould  be; 
but  what  could  assail  that  devotion?  It  was  a  strong 
thing,  it  was  a  holy  thing.  He  was  very  sure  that  noth- 
ing would  overcome  it.  Like  many  young  men,  igno- 
rant of  death,  he  had  believed  in  metempsychosis.  This 
blow  of  death  had  brought  down  that  fancy  with  all  the 
other  card-houses  of  his  mind.  His  nature  was  now,  as 
it  were,  humbled  to  its  knees,  wondering,  stricken,  and 
appalled  by  possibilities  of  death  undreamed  of.     He 


114  MULTITUDE  AI^D  SOLITUDE 

could  not  feel  that  Ottalie  would  live  again,  in  a  new 
body,  starting  afresh,  in  a  new  life-machine,  with  all 
the  acquired  character  of  the  past  life  as  a  reserve  of 
strength.  He  could  only  feel  that  somewhere  in  that 
great  empty  air,  outside  the  precise  definition  of  living 
forms,  Ottalie,  the  little,  conquered  kingdom  of  beauty 
and  goodness,  existed  still.  It  was  something.  New- 
man's hymn,  with  its  lovely  closing  couplet,  moved  him 
and  comforted  him.  One  of  the  Fawcetts  was  crying, 
snuffling,  with  a  firm  mouth,  as  men  usually  cry.  He 
himself  was  near  to  tears.  He  was  being  torn  by  the 
thought  that  Ottalie  was  lonely,  very  lonely  and  fright- 
ened, out  there  beyond  life,  beyond  the  order  of  defined 
live  things. 

He  walked  back  with  Leslie  Eawcett.  Agatha's 
mother  was  at  the  house;  Leslie  was  stopping  in  the 
cottage  with  him. 

"  Poor  little  Ollie,"  said  Leslie  gently. 

"  She  was  very  beautiful,"  said  Roger.  He  thought, 
as  he  said  it,  that  it  was  a  strange  thing  for  an  English- 
man to  say  to  a  dead  woman's  brother.  "  She  was  very 
beautiful.  It  must  be  terrible  to  you.  You  knew  her 
in  an  intimate  relation." 

"  Yes,"  said  Leslie,  looking  hard  at  Roger,  out  of 
grave  level  eyes.  '^  She  was  a  very  perfect  charac- 
ter." 

They  were  climbing  the  cliff  road  to  the  cottage. 
The  sea  was  just  below  them.     The  water  was  ruffled 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  115 

to  whiteness.  Sullivan's  jobble  stretched  in  breakers 
across  the  bay  from  Carn  Point.  Gannets,  plunging  in 
the  jobble,  flung  aloft  white  founts,  as  though  shot  were 
striking. 

"  You  were  very  great  friends,"  said  Koger.  "  I 
mean,  even  for  brother  and  sister." 

"  Johnny  was  her  favourite  brother,  as  a  child,"  said 
Leslie.  "  You  did  not  see  much  of  Johnny.  He  was 
killed  in  the  war.  And  then  he  was  in  India  a  long 
time.  It  was  after  Johnny's  death  that  Ottalie  and  I 
began  to  be  so  much  to  each  other.  You  see,  Agatha 
was  only  with  her  about  five  months  in  the  year.  She 
was  with  us  nearly  that  each  year.  She  was  wonderful 
with  children." 

"  Yes,"  said  Roger,  holding  open  the  gate  of  the 
little  garden  so  that  his  guest  might  pass,  "  I  know." 
He  was  not  likely  to  forget  how  wonderful  she  had  been 
with  children.  They  went  into  the  little  sitting-room 
where  Norah,  in  one  of  her  black  moods,  gave  them  tea. 
After  tea  they  sat  in  the  garden,  looking  out  over  the 
low  hedge  at  the  bay.  At  sunset  they  walked  along  the 
coast  to  a  place  which  they  had  called  "  the  cove." 
They  had  used  to  bathe  there.  A  little  brook  tumbled 
over  a  rock  in  a  forty-foot  fall.  Below  the  fall  was  a 
pool,  overgrowai  later  in  the  year  with  meadow-sweet 
and  honeysuckle,  but  clear  now,  save  for  the  rushes  and 
brambles.  The  brook  slid  out  from  the  basin  over  a 
reddish    rock    worn    smooth,    even    in    its    veins    and 


116  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

knuckles,  by  many  centuries  of  trickling.  Storms  had 
piled  sliingle  below  this  side  of  water.  The  brook  drib- 
bled to  the  sea  unseen,  making  a  gurgling,  tinkling 
noise.  Up  above,  at  the  place  where  the  fall  first  leapt, 
among  some  ash-trees,  windy  and  grey,  stood  what  was 
left  of  a  nunnery,  of  reddish  stone,  fire-blackened, 
among  a  company  of  tumbled  gravestones. 

Of  all  the  places  sacred  to  Ottalie  in  Roger's  mind, 
that  was  the  most  sacred.  They  had  been  happy  there. 
They  had  talked  intimately  there,  moved  by  the  place's 
beauty.  His  most  vivid  memories  of  her  had  that  beau- 
tiful place  for  their  setting. 

"  Roger,"  said  Leslie,  "  did  you  see  her  in  town,  be- 
fore this  happened  ? " 

"  No." 

"  You  did  not  see  her  ?  " 

"  No.     Not  this  time." 

"  She  was  going  to  see  you." 

"  I  believe  she  came  just  before  she  started.  I  had 
just  gone  out.     We  missed  each  other." 

Leslie  lifted  his  pince-nez.  He  was  looking  at  Roger, 
with  the  grave,  steady  look  by  which  people  remem- 
bered him.  Roger  thought  afterwards  that  his  putting 
on  of  the  pince-nez  had  been  done  tenderly,  as  though 
he  had  said,  "  I  see  that  you  are  suffering.  With  these 
glasses  I  shall  see  how  to  help  you." 

"  You  were  in  love  with  her  ? "  he  asked,  in  a  low 
voice. 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  117 

"  Yes.     Who  was  not  ?  " 

"  I  have  something  to  say  to  you  about  that.  Have 
you  ever  thought  of  what  marriage  means?  I  am  not 
talking  of  the  passionate  side.  That  is  nothing.  I  am 
talking  of  the  everyday  aspect  of  married  life.  Have 
you  thought  of  that  at  all  ?  " 

"  All  men  have  thought  of  it." 

"  Yes ;  I  grant  you.  All  men  have  thought  of  it. 
But  do  many  of  them  think  it  home?  Have  you? 
I  imagine  that  most  men  never  follow  the  thought 
home ;  but  leave  it  in  day-dreams,  and  images  of  selfish- 
ness. I  don't  think  that  many  men  realise  how  in- 
finitely much  finer  in  quality  the  woman's  mind  is. 
ISTor  how  much  more  delicately  quick  it  is.  Nor  what 
the  clash  of  that  quickness  and  fineness,  with  something 
duller  and  grosser,  may  entail,  in  ordinary  everyday 
life,  to  the  woman." 

"  I  think  that  I  realise  it." 

"  Yes,  perhaps.  Perhaps  you  do  realise  it,  as  an  in- 
tellectual question.  But  would  you,  do  most  men, 
realise  it  as  life  realises  it  ?  It  is  one  thing  to  imagine 
one's  duty  to  one's  wife,  when,  as  a  bachelor,  used  to  all 
manner  of  self-indulgence,  one  sits  smoking  over  the 
fire.  But  to  carry  out  that  duty  in  life  taxes  the  char- 
acter.. Swiftness  of  responsion,  tact,  is  rarer  than 
genius.  I  imagine  that  with  you,  temporary  sensation 
counts  for  more  than  an  ordered,  and  possibly  rigid,  at- 
titude, towards  life  as  a  whole." 


118  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

"  Both  count  for  very  much ;  or  did.  Nothing  seems 
very  much  at  this  moment." 

"  Ottalie  loved  you,"  said  Leslie  simply.  "  But  she 
felt  that  there  was  this  want  in  you,  of  so  thinking 
things  home  that  they  become  character.  She  thought 
you  too  ready  to  surrender  to  immediate  and,  perhaps, 
wayward  emotions.  She  was  not  sure  that  you  could 
help  her  to  be  the  finest  thing  possible  to  her,  nor  that 
she  could  so  help  you." 

"  How  do  you  know  this  ?  " 

"  She  discussed  it  with  me.  She  wanted  my  help. 
I  said  that  I  ought  not  to  interfere,  but  that,  on  the 
whole,  I  thought  that  she  was  right.  That,  in  fact, 
your  love  was  not  in  the  depths  of  your  nature.  I  said 
this;  but  I  added  that  you  were  too  sensitive  to  im- 
pressions not  to  grow,  and  that  (rightly  influenced) 
there  is  hardly  anything  which  you  might  not  become. 
The  danger  which  threatens  you  seems  to  me  to  threaten 
all  artists.  Art  is  a  great  strain.  It  compels  selfish- 
ness. I  have  wondered  whether,  if  things  had  been 
different,  if  you  had  married  Ottalie,  you  could  have 
come  from  creating  heroines  to  tend  a  wife's  headache ; 
or,  with  a  headache  yourself,  have  seen  the  heroine  in 
her.  "We  have  life  before  us.  You  are  all  tenderness 
and  nobleness  now.  It  is  sad  that  we  have  not  this 
always  in  our  minds." 

"  Yes,"  said  Koger.  "  We  have  life ;  and  all  my  old 
life  is  a  house  of  cards.     Before  this  it  seemed  a  noble 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  119 

thing  to  strive  with  my  whole  strength  to  express  cer- 
tain principles,  and  to  give  reality  and  beauty  to  im- 
agined character.  I  worked  to  please  her.  And  often 
I  did  not  understand  her,  and  did  not  know  her.  I 
have  walked  in  her  mind,  and  the  houses  were  all  shut 
up.  I  could  only  knock  at  the  doors  and  listen.  And 
now  I  never  shall  know.  I  only  know  that  she  was  a 
very  beautiful  thing,  and  that  I  loved  her,  and  tried  to 
make  my  work  worthy  of  her." 

"  She  loved  you,  too,"  said  Leslie.  "  "Whatever  death 
may  be,  we  ought  to  look  upon  it  as  a  part  of  life. 
Try  to  be  all  that  you  might  have  been  with  her.  Never 
mind  about  your  work.  You  have  been  too  fond  of 
emotional  self-indulgence.  Set  that  aside,  and  go  on. 
She  would  have  married  you.  Try  to  realise  that. 
Her  nature  would  have  been  a  part  of  yours.  All 
your  character  would  have  been  sifted  and  tested  and  re- 
fined by  her.  Now  let  us  go  in,  Roger.  Tell  me  what 
you  are  going  to  do." 

"  There  is  not  much  to  do.  I  must  try  to  rearrange 
my  life.  But  I  see  one  thing,  I  think,  that  art  is  very 
frightful  when  it  has  not  the  seriousness  of  life  and 
death  in  it." 

"  Yes,"  said  Leslie.  "  Maggie  and  I  went  into  that 
together.  We  built  up  a  theory  that  the  art  life  is 
strangely  like  the  life  of  the  religious  contemplative. 
Both  attract  men  by  the  gratification  of  emotion  as  well 
as  by  the  possibility  of  perfection.     One  of  the  great 


120  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

Spanish  saints,  I  think  it  is  St.  John  of  Avila,  says  that 
many  novices  deliberately  indulge  themselves  in  re- 
ligious emotion,  for  the  sake  of  the  emotion,  instead  of 
for  the  love  of  God;  but  that  the  knowledge  of  God  is 
only  revealed  to  those  who  get  beyond  that  stage,  and 
can  endure  stages  of  '  stypticities  and  drjTiesses,'  with 
the  same  fervour.  It  seems  to  us  (of  course  we  are 
both  Philistines)  that  modern  art  does  not  take  enough 
out  of  those  who  produce  it.  The  world  flatters  them 
too  much.  I  suspect  that  flattery  of  the  world  is  going 
on  in  return." 

"  N'ot  from  the  best." 

Leslie  shook  his  head  unconvinced.  "  You  are  not 
producing  martyrs,"  he  said.  "  You  do  not  attack  bad 
things.  You  laugh  at  them,  or  photograph  them,  and 
call  it  satire.  You  belong  to  the  world,  my  friend 
Roger.  You  are  a  part  of  the  vanity  of  the  world,  the 
flesh,  and  the  devil.  You  have  not  even  made  the  idea 
of  woman  glorious  in  men's  minds.  Otherwise  they 
would  have  votes  and  power  in  the  Houses.  !N'ot  one  of 
you  has  even  been  imprisoned  for  maiming  a  censor  of 
plays.  All  the  generations  have  a  certain  amount  of 
truth  revealed  to  them.  It  is  very  dangerous  to  dis- 
cover truth.  You  can  learn  what  kind  of  truth  is  being 
revealed  to  an  age  by  noting  what  kind  of  people  give 
their  lives  for  ideas.  It  used  at  one  time  to  be  bishops.. 
Think  of  it." 

Leslie  talked  on,  shaping  the  talk  as  he  had  planned  it 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  121 

beforeliand,  but  pointing  it  so  gently  that  it  was  not  till 
afterwards  that  Roger,  realising  his  motives,  gave  him 
thanks  for  his  unselfishness.  They  stopped  on  the 
rushy  hill  below  Ottalie's  home,  just  as  the  sun,  now 
sinking,  flamed  out  upon  her  window,  till  it  burned  like 
the  sun  itself.  To  Roger  it  seemed  like  a  flaming  door. 
She  had  looked  out  there,  from  that  window.  Her 
little  writing-table,  with  its  jar  of  sweet  peas,  and  that 
other  jar,  of  autumn  berries  and  the  silvery  parchment 
of  honesty,  stood  just  below  it,  on  each  side  of  the 
blotter,  bound  in  mottled  chintz.  Leslie's  talk  came 
home  to  him  fiercely.  The  clawings  of  remorse  came. 
He  knew  the  room.  He  had  never  known  the  inmate. 
She  was  gone.  He  had  wasted  his  chance.  He  might 
have  known  her;  but  he  had  preferred  to  indulge  in 
those  emotions  and  sentiments  which  keep  the  soul  from 
knowledge.  Now  she  was  gone.  All  the  agony  of  re- 
morse cried  out  in  him  for  one  little  moment  in  the 
room  with  her,  to  tell  her  that  he  loved  her,  for  one 
little  word  of  farewell,  one  sight  of  the  beloved  face,  so 
that  he  might  remember  it  forever.  Memories  rose  up, 
choking  him.  She  was  gone.  There  was  only  the 
flaming  door. 

"  Roger,"  said  Leslie,  in  his  even,  gentle  voice,  which 
had  such  a  quality  of  attraction  in  it,  "  Maggie  asked 
me  to  bring  you  back  with  me  to  stay  a  couple  of 
weeks." 

In  his  confused  sleep  that  night  he  dreamed  that 


122  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

Ottalie  was  lying  ill  in  her  room,  behind  a  bolted  copper 
door  which  gleamed.  The  passage  without  the  room 
was  lighted.  People  came  to  the  door  to  knock.  A 
long  procession  of  people  came.  He  saw  them  listening 
intently  there,  with  their  ears  bent  to  the  keyhole. 
They  were  all  the  people  who  had  been  in  love  with  her. 
Some  were  relatives,  some  were  men  who  had  seen  her 
at  dances,  some  were  women,  some  were  old  friends  like 
himself.  Last  of  all  came  an  elderly  lady  carrying  a 
light.  She  was  dressed  in  a  robe  of  dim  purple.  She, 
too,  knocked  sharply  on  the  door.  She  lingered  there, 
long  enough  for  him  to  study  her  fine,  intellectual  face. 
It  was  the  face  of  Ottalie  grown  old.  The  woman  was 
the  completed  Ottalie. 

For  a  moment  she  stood  there  listening,  as  one  listens 
at  the  door  of  a  sick-room.  Then  she  knocked  a  second 
time,  sharply,  calling  "  Ottalie !  "  He  saw  then  that  it 
was  not  a  door  but  a  flame.  He  heard  from  within  a 
strangled  answer,  as  though  some  one,  half  dead,  had 
risen  to  open.  Some  one  was  coming  to  the  door. 
Even  in  his  dream  his  blood  leaped  with  the  expectation 
of  his  love. 

But  it  was  not  his  love.  It  was  himself,  strangling 
in  the  flames  to  get  to  her.  She  reached  her  hand  to 
him.  Though  the  flames  were  stifling,  he  touched  her. 
It  was  as  though  the  agony  of  many  years  had  been 
changed    suddenly    to    ecstasy.     "  Roger,"    she    said. 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  123 

Her  hand  caught  him,  she  drew  him  through  the  fire  to 
her.  He  saw  her  raise  the  candle  to  look  at  his  face. 
For  a  moment  they  were  looking  at  each  other,  there  in 
the  passage.  The  agony  was  over.  They  were  to- 
gether, looking  into  each  other's  eyes.  He  felt  her  life 
coursing  into  him  from  her  touch. 

Voices  spoke  without.  Xorah,  at  the  door,  was  hag- 
gling. "  Is  that  all  the  milk  ye've  brought,  Kitty 
O'Hara  ? " 

The  dream  faded  away  as  the  life  broke  in  upon  him. 
There  was  some  word,  some  song.  Some  one  with  a 
fine  voice  was  singing  outside,  singing  in  the  dream, 
singing  about  a  fever.  Ottalie  was  holding  him,  but 
her  touch  was  fading  from  his  sense,  and  joy  was  rush- 
ing from  him.  Outside,  on  the  top  spray  of  the  black- 
thorn, a  yellow-hammer  trilled,  "  A  little  bit  of  bread 
and  no  —  che-e-e-e-se,"  telling  him  that  the  world  was 
going  on. 

The  fortnight  passed.  Roger  was  going  back  to 
London.  The  day  before  he  sailed  he  rode  over  with 
Leslie  to  take  a  last  look  at  Ottalie's  home.  He  left 
Leslie  at  the  cottage,  so  that  he  might  go  there  alone. 
He  walked  alone  up  the  loaning.  Within  the  garden  he 
paused,  looking  do-wn  at  the  house.  The  smell  of  the 
sweet  verbena  was  very  strong,  in  that  mild  damp  air, 
full  of  the  promise  of  rain.  A  paper  was  blowing  about 
along  the  walk.     A  white  kitten,  romping  out  from  the 


124  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

stable,  pounced  on  it,  worried  it  with  swift  gougings 
of  the  hind  claws,  then,  spitting,  with  ears  laid  back 
and  tail  bristling,  raced  away  for  a  swift  climb  up  a 
pear-tree.  Roger  picked  up  the  paper.  It  would  be  a 
relic  of  the  place.  He  felt  inclined  to  treasure  every- 
thing there,  to  take  the  house,  never  to  go  away  from  it, 
or,  failing  that,  to  carry  away  many  of  her  favourite 
flowers.  He  straightened  the  paper  so  that  he  might 
read  it. 

It  was  a  double  page  from  a  year-old  London  paper 
entitled  Top-Knots.  It  consisted  of  scraps  of  gossip, 
scraps  of  news,  scraps  of  information,  seasoned  with 
imperial  feeling.  It  had  been  edited  by  some  one  with 
a  sense  of  the  purity  of  the  home.  It  was  harmless 
stuff.  The  wisdom  of  the  reader  was  flattered ;  the 
wisdom  of  the  foreigner  was  not  openly  condemned. 
Though  some  fear  of  invasion  was  implied,  its  pos- 
sibility was  flouted.  "  It  was  a  maxim  of  our  JSTelson 
that  one  Englishman  was  worth  three  foreigners." 
The  jokes  were  feeble.  The  paper  catered  for  a  class 
of  poor,  half-educated  people  without  more  leisure  than 
the  morning  ride  to  business,  and  the  hour  of  exhaus- 
tion between  supper  and  bed.  It  was  well  enough  in 
its  way.  Some  day,  when  life  is  less  exhausting,  men 
will  demand  stuff  with  more  life.  Something  caught 
Roger's  eye.  He  read  it  through.  It  was  the  first 
thing  read  by  him  since  his  arrival  there. 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  125 

"  Sleeping  Sickness. 

"  It  is  not  generally  known  that  this  devastating  ail- 
ment is  caused  by  the  presence  of  a  minute  micro- 
organism in  the  human  system.  The  micro-organism 
may  exist  in  unsuspected  harmlessness  for  many  years 
in  the  victim's  blood.  It  is  not  until  it  enters  what  is 
known  to  scientists  as  the  cerebro-spinal  fluid,  or  as  we 
should  call  it,  the  marrow,  that  it  sets  up  the  peculiar 
sjanptoms  of  the  dread  disease  which  has  so  far  baffled 
the  ingenuity  of  our  soi-disant  savants.  This  terrible 
affliction,  which  is  not  by  any  means  confined  to  those 
inferior  members  of  the  human  race,  the  dusky  inhab- 
itants of  Uganda,  consists  of  a  lethargy  accompanied 
with  great  variations  of  temperature.  So  far  the  dread 
complaint  is  without  a  remedy.  Well  may  the  medico 
echo  the  words  of  the  Prince  of  Deimaark: 

'  There  are  more  things  in  heaven  and  earth,  Horatio, 
Than  are  dreamed  of  in  your  philosophy.' " 

There  was  no  more  about  the  disease.  The  page 
ended  with  a  joke  about  a  mother-in-law.  The  para- 
graph made  Roger  remember  an  article  which  he  had 
once  read  about  the  sudden  rise  of  the  sickness  in  some 
district  in  Africa.  He  remembered  the  photograph  of 
a  young  African,  who  was  dozing  his  life  away,  propped 
against  a  tree.  The  thought  passed.  In  another  in- 
stant he  was  full  of  his  own  misery  again.     But  in- 


126  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

stead  of  throwing  away  the  paper,  he  folded  it,  and  put 
it  in  his  pocket-case.  It  would  remind  him  of  that  last 
visit  to  Ottalie's  garden.     He  would  keep  it  forever. 

His  wretchedness  gave  him  a  craving  to  be  tender  to 
something.  He  tried  to  attract  the  kitten,  but  the  kit- 
ten, tiring  of  her  romp,  scampered  to  the  garden  wall 
to  stalk  sparrows.  He  plucked  a  leaf  or  two  from  the 
verbena.     He  went  into  the  house. 

Agatha  welcomed  him.  She  was  writing  replies  to 
letters  of  condolence.  The  death  had  taken  her  hard- 
ness from  her. 

"  Sit  down  and  talk,"  she  said.  "  What  are  you  go- 
ing to  do  ? " 

"  That  is  like  a  woman,"  he  said.  "  Women  are 
wonderful.  They  use  a  man's  vanity  to  protect  them- 
selves from  his  egotism.  I  came  here  to  ask  you  that. 
What  are  you  going  to  do  ? " 

"  I  shall  go  on  with  my  work,"  she  said.  "  I  am  sure 
not  to  marry.  I  shall  start  a  little  school  for  poor 
girls." 

"  At  Great  Harley  ?  But  you  were  doing  that  be- 
fore." 

"  Only  in  a  very  desultory  sort  of  way.  But  now  it 
is  all  different.     Life  has  become  so  much  bigger." 

"  Will  you  tell  me  about  it  ?  I  should  like  to  hear 
about  it." 

"  Oh,  it  would  only  bore  you.  I  shall  just  teach 
them  the  simplest  things.     How  to  darn  clothes,  how 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  127 

to  cook,  and  perhaps  a  little  singing.  It  isn't  as  though 
I  were  a  learned  person." 

"  How  kind  of  you." 

"  It  isn't  kind  at  all." 

"  You  will  be  taking  girls  of  from  thirteen  to  six- 
teen ?  " 

"  Yes.  I've  got  no  -flair  for  very  little  children.  Be- 
sides, there  is  nothing  which  I  could  teach  them.  I 
want  to  get  hold  of  them  at  an  age  when  I  can  really 
be  of  use  to  them." 

She  drummed  a  little  with  one  foot. 

"  I  wish  that  you  would  let  me  help  you,"  he  con- 
tinued. 

"  Thank  you  very  much.  That  is  very  kind  of  you. 
But  I  must  do  this  quite  by  myself." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  the  flat  in  town  ? " 
he  asked.  "  I  should  like  to  take  it  if  you  are  going 
to  give  it  up." 

"  Oh,  I  shall  keep  it  on,"  she  said.  "  I  shall  be  up 
for  week-ends  a  good  deal,  at  any  rate  until  I  have  got 
my  class  in  working  order." 

"  You  will  let  me  know  if  you  ever  want  to  give  it 
up?" 

"  Yes.  Certainly  I  will.  Will  you  go  back  ?  I 
suppose  you  will  be  going  back  to  your  work.  What 
are  your  plans?  You  never  answered  my  question. 
You  went  flying  off  into  apophthegms." 

"  I  loved  Ottalie,  too,"  he  answered.     "  I  won't  say 


128  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

as  much  as  you  did,  for  you  knew  her  intimately.  I 
never  was  soul  to  soul  with  her  as  you  were;  but  I 
loved  her.  I  want  now  to  make  my  life  worthy  of  her, 
as  you  do.  But  it  won't  be  in  my  work.  I  don't  know 
what  it  will  be  in.  You  women  are  lucky.  You  can 
know  people  like  her." 

"  Yes.  I  shall  always  be  glad  of  that,"  said  Agatha. 
"  Even  the  loss  is  bearable  when  I  think  that  I  knew 
her  fully.     Perhaps  better  than  any  one." 

"  Yes,"  he  said.  He  paused,  turning  it  over  in  his 
mind.  "  Life  is  a  conspiracy  against  women,"  he 
added.  "  That  is  why  they  are  so  wonderful  and  so 
strange.     I  am  only  groping  in  the  dark  about  her." 

"  Eoger,"  said  Agatha,  speaking  slowly,  "  I  think  I 
ought  to  tell  you.  I  knew  that  you  were  in  love  with 
her.  I  was  jealous  of  you.  I  did  all  that  I  could  to 
keep  you  apart.  She  was  in  love  with  you.  When  she 
saw  you  at  the  theatre  before  the  disturbance  began, 
she  would  have  gone  to  your  box  if  I  had  not  said  that  I 
was  sure  you  would  prefer  to  be  alone.  In  the  morning 
she  saw  what  one  of  the  papers  said.  She  insisted  on 
going  to  see  you  at  your  rooms.  She  said  that  she  was 
sure  you  were  expecting  her,  or  that  something  had 
kept  her  letters  from  you.  I  told  her  that  it  wasn't 
a  very  usual  thing  to  do.  She  said  that  she  would  talk 
about  that  afterwards.  Afterwards,  when  she  had 
gone,  and  failed  to  see  you,  she  was  horrified  at  what 
you  might  think  of  her." 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  129 

It  was  very  sweet  to  hear  more  of  her,  thus,  after  all 
was  over.  It  was  something  new  about  her.  He  had 
never  seen  that  side  of  her.  He  wondered  how  much 
more  Agatha  would  tell  him,  or  permit  him  to  learn,  in 
years  to  come.  He  saw  that  she  was  near  tears.  He 
was  not  going  to  keep  her  longer  on  the  rack. 

"  Agatha,"  he  said,  "  we  have  been  at  cross-purposes 
for  a  long  time  now.  We  have  not  been  just  to  each 
other.  Let  it  end  now.  We  both  loved  her.  Don't  let 
it  go  on,  now  that  she  is  dead.  I  want  to  feel  that  the 
one  who  knew  her  best  is  my  friend.  I  want  you  to  let 
me  help  you,  as  a  brother  might,  whenever  you  want 
help.     Will  you?" 

She  said,  "  Thank  you,  Roger."  They  shook  hands. 
He  remembered  afterwards  how  the  lustre  of  the  hon- 
esty shewed  behind  her  head.  A  worn  old  panther  skin, 
the  relic  of  a  beast  which  had  been  shot  in  India  by 
Ottalie's  father  so  many  years  before  that  the  hairless 
hide  was  like  parchment  beneath  the  feet,  crackled  as 
she  left  the  room.  Roger  plucked  some  of  the  silvery 
seed  vessels  for  remembrance. 

He  stood  in  the  hall  for  a  moment  trying  to  fix  it  in 
his  mind.  There  was  the  barometer,  by  Dakins,  of 
South  Castle  Street,  in  Liverpool,  an  old  piece,  hand- 
some, but  long  since  useless.  There  were  the  well-re- 
membered doors.  The  dining-room  door,  the  library 
door,  the  door  leading  into  the  jolly  south  room,  the 
foom  sweet  with  the  vague  perfume,  almost  the  memory 


130  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

of  a  perfume,  as  though  the  ghosts  of  flowers  strayed 
there.  The  door  of  that  room  was  open.  Through  its 
open  windows  he  could  see  the  blue  of  the  bay,  twinkling 
to  the  wind.  ]^ear  the  window  was  the  piano,  heaped 
with  music.  A  waltz  lay  upon  the  piano :  the  Myosotis 
Waltz.  Let  no  one  despise  dance  music.  It  is  the 
music  which  breaks  the  heart.  It  is  full  of  lights  and 
scents,  the  laughter  of  pretty  women  and  youth's 
triumph.  To  the  man  or  woman  who  has  failed  in  life 
the  sound  of  such  music  is  bitter.  It  is  youth  reproach- 
ing age.     It  indicates  the  anti-climax. 

He  walked  with  Leslie  through  the  village.  The 
ragged  men  on  the  bridge,  hearing  them  coming,  turned, 
and  touched  what  had  once  been  their  hats  to  them. 
They  were  not  made  for  death,  those  old  men.  They 
were  the  only  Irish  things  which  the  English  tourist 
had  not  corrupted.  They  leant  on  the  parapet  all  day. 
In  the  forenoons  they  looked  at  the  road  and  at  the 
people  passing.  In  the  afternoons,  when  the  sun  made 
their  old  eyes  blink,  they  turned  and  looked  into  the 
water,  where  it  gurgled  over  rusty  cans,  a  clear  brown 
peat-stream.  A  quarter  of  a  mile  up  the  stream  was 
the  graveyard,  where  the  earth  had  by  this  time  ceased 
to  settle  over  Ottalie's  face.  On  the  grave,  loosely  tied 
with  rushes,  was  a  bunch  of  dog-roses. 

They  climbed  the  sharp  rise  beyond  the  bridge. 
Here  they  began  to  ride.  They  were  going  to  ride 
thirty  miles  to  the  hotel.     There  they  would  sleep.     In 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  131 

the  morning  Roger  would  take  the  steamer  and  return 
to  London,  where  he  would  dree  his  weird  by  his  lane 
as  best  he  could. 

The  men  on  the  quay  were  loading  ore,  as  of  old,  into 
a  dirty  Glasgow  coaster.  One  of  them  asked  Roger 
which  team  had  won  at  the  hurling. 

They  ploughed  through  the  red  mud  churned  by  the 
ore-carts.  The  schooner  lay  bilged  on  the  sand,  as  of 
old,  with  one  forlorn  rope  flogging  the  air.  One  or  two 
golfers  loafed  with  their  attendant  loafers  on  the  links. 
They  rode  past  them.  Then  on  the  long,  straight,  east- 
ward bearing  road,  which  rounds  Carn  Point,  they  be- 
gan to  hurry,  having  the  wind  from  the  glens  behind 
them.  Soon  they  were  at  the  last  gloomy  angle  from 
which  the  familiar  hills  could  be  seen.  They  rounded 
it.  They  passed  the  little  turnpike.  A  cutter  yacht, 
standing  close  inshore,  bowed  slowly  under  all  sail  be- 
fore them.  She  lifted,  poising,  as  the  helm  went  down. 
Her  sails  trembled  into  a  great  rippling  shaking,  then 
steadied  suddenly  as  the  sheet  checked.  A  man  aboard 
her  waved  his  hand  to  them,  calling  something.  They 
spun  downhill  from  the  cutter.  Now  they  were  pass- 
ing by  a  shore  where  the  water  broke  on  weed-covered 
boulders.  From  that  point  the  road  became  more  ugly 
at  each  turn  of  the  wheel.     It  was  the  road  to  England. 

They  stopped  at  the  posting-house  so  that  a  puncture 
might  be  mended  while  they  were  at  tea.  Tea  was 
served   in  a  long,   damp,   decaying  room,   hung  with 


132  MULTITUDE  Al^D  SOLITUDE 

shabby  stuff  curtains.  Vividly  coloured  portraits  of 
Queen  Victoria  and  Robert  Emmet  hung  from  the 
walls.  On  the  sideboard  were  many  metal  teapots. 
On  the  table,  copies  of  Commerce,  each  surmounted  by 
a  time-table  in  a  hard  red  cover,  surrounded  a  tray  of 
pink  wineglasses  grouped  about  an  aspodesta.  On  a 
piano  was  a  pile  of  magazines,  some  of  them  ten  years 
old,  all  coverless  and  dog's-eared.  Roger  picked  up  one 
of  the  newest  of  them,  not  because  he  wanted  to  read 
it,  but  because,  like  many  literary  men,  he  was  unable 
to  keep  his  hands  off  printed  matter.  He  answered 
Leslie  at  random  as  he  looked  through  it.  There  was 
not  much  to  interest  him  there.  Towards  the  end  of  it 
there  was  a  photograph  of  an  African  hut,  against  which 
a  man  and  woman  huddled,  apparently  asleep.  A 
white  man  in  tropical  clothes  stood  beside  them,  looking 
at  something  in  a  sort  of  test-tube. 

"  A  Common  Scene  in  the  Sleeping  Sickness 
Belt,"  ran  the  legend.  Underneath,  in  smaller  type, 
was  written,  "  This  photograph  represents  two  natives 
in  the  last  stages  of  the  dread  disease,  which,  at  present, 
is  believed  to  be  incurable.  The  man  in  white,  to  1. 
of  the  picture  (reader's  r.),  is  Dr.  Wanklyn,  of  the  Un. 
Kgdm.  Med.  Assn.  The  photograph  was  taken  by  Mr. 
A.  S.  Smallpiece,  Dr.  Wanklyn's  assistant.  Copy- 
right." 

"  What  do  you  know  of  sleeping  sickness,  Leslie  ? " 
he  asked. 


MULTITUDE  A^D  SOLITUDE  133 

"  Sleeping  sickness  ?  "  said  Leslie.  "  There  was  an 
article  about  it  in  The  Fortnightly,  or  one  of  the  re- 
views. There  was  a  theory  that  it  is  caused  in  some 
way  by  the  bite  of  a  tsetse  fly." 

"  Yes,"  said  Eoger,  "  I  remember  that." 

"  Then  when  Maggie  and  I  were  staying  at  Drumna- 
lorry  we  met  old  Dr.  MacKenzie.  He  w^as  out  in 
Africa  a  great  deal,  fifty  or  sixty  years  ago.  He  was  a 
great  friend  of  my  mother's.  He  told  us  at  dinner  one 
night  that  sleeping  sickness  is  not  a  new  thing  at  all, 
but  a  very  old  thing.  The  natives  used  to  get  it  even 
in  his  day.  He  said  that  the  tsetse  fly  theory  was  really 
all  nonsense.  He  called  it  a  pure  invention,  based  on 
the  discovery  that  yellow  fever  is  spread  by  the  white- 
ribbed  mosquito.  His  owti  theory  was  that  it  was 
caused  by  manioc  intoxication." 

"  That  seems  to  me  to  be  the  prejudice  of  an  old  man. 
What  is  manioc  ?  " 

"  A  kind  of  a  root,  like  cassava,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Probably.     What  is  cassava  ?  " 

"  It's  what  they  make  bread  of ;  cassava  bread.  It's 
poisonous  until  you  bake  it.  Isn't  that  the  stuff? 
Are  you  interested  in  sleeping  sickness  ?  " 

"  Yes.  It  has  been  running  in  my  head  all  day. 
Look  here.  Here's  a  picture  of  two  Africans  suffering 
from  it.     Do  they  just  sleep  away  like  that  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so.  They  become  more  and  more  lethar- 
gic, probably,  until  at  last  they  cannot  be  roused." 


134  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

"  How  long  are  they  in  that  condition  ?  " 

"  I  believe  for  weeks.  Poor  fellows ;  it  must  be 
ghastly  to  watch." 

"  There  is  no  cure.  There's  no  cure  for  a  lot  of 
things.  Tetanus,  leprosy,  cancer.  I  wonder  how  it  be- 
gins. You  wake  up  feeling  drowsy.  And  then  to  feel 
it  coming  on ;  and  to  have  seen  others  ill  with  it.  And 
to  know  at  the  beginning  what  you  will  have  to  go 
through  and  become.     It  must  be  ghastly." 

"  Here  is  tea,"  said  Leslie.  "  By  the  way,  sleeping 
sickness  must  be  getting  worse.  It  attacks  Europeans 
sometimes.  MacKenzie  said  that  in  his  time  it  never 
did." 

"  Well,"  said  Roger,  "  Europeans  have  given  enough 
diseases  to  the  Africans.  It  is  only  fair  that  we  should 
take  some  in  return." 

They  rode  on  slowly  in  the  bright  Irish  twilight. 
When  they  were  near  the  end  of  their  journey  they  came 
to  a  villa,  the  garden  of  which  was  shut  from  the  road 
by  a  low  hedge.  The  garden  was  full  of  people.  Some 
of  them  were  still  playing  croquet.  Chinese  lanterns, 
already  lit,  made  mellow  colour  in  the  dusk.  A  black- 
haired,  moustachioed  man  with  a  banjo  sat  in  a  deck- 
chair  singing.  The  voice  was  a  fine  bass  voice,  some- 
how familiar  to  Roger.  It  was  wailing  out  the  end  of  a 
sentimental  ditty: 

"  O,  the  moon,  the  moon,  the  moon," 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  135 

in  which  the  expression  had  to  supply  the  want  of  in- 
tensity in  the  writing.  Hardly  had  the  singer  whined 
his  last  note  when  he  twanged  his  banjo  thrice  in  a 
sprightly  fashion.  He  piped  up  another  ditty  just  as 
the  cyclists  passed. 

"  O,  I'm  so  seedy. 
So  very  seedy, 
I  don't  know  what  to  do. 
I've  consumption   of  the  liver 
And  a  dose  of  yellow  fever 
And  sleeping  sickness,  too. 

O,  my  head  aches 

And  my  heart  .  .  ." 

The  banjo  came  to  ground  with  a  twang:  the  song 
stopped. 

"  Fawcett !  "  the  singer  shouted ;  "  Fawcett !  Come 
in  here.     Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  I  can't  stop,"  cried  Leslie,  over  his  shoulder.  He 
turned  to  Roger.     "  Let's  get  away,"  he  said. 

They  rode  hard  for  a  few  minutes.  "  Who  was 
that  ?  "  Roger  asked.     "  I  seemed  to  know  his  voice." 

"  It's  a  man  called  Maynwaring,"  said  Leslie.  "  I 
don't  think  you've  met  him,  have  you?  He's  in  the 
Xavy.  He  met  us  at  a  dance.  He  proposed  to  Ottalie 
about  a  year  ago.  Now  he  has  married  one  of  those 
pretty,  silly  doll-women,  a  regular  officer's  wife.  They 
are  not  much  liked  here." 

"  Curious,"  said  Roger ;  "  he  was  singing  about  sleep- 
ing sickness.     Somehow,  I  think  I  must  have  met  him. 


136  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

His  voice  seems  so  familiar."  He  stopped  suddenly, 
thinking  that  the  voice  was  the  voice  of  the  singer  in  his 
dream.  "  Yes,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  Yes.  It  was." 
A  few  minutes  later  they  were  sliding  down  the  long 
hill  to  the  hotel. 


VI 

Man  is  a  lump  of  earth,  the  best  man's  spiritless, 
To  such  a  woman. 

John  Fletcher. 

LONDON  was  too  full  of  memories.  He  could 
not  get  away  from  them.  He  could  not 
empty  liis  mind  sufficiently  to  plan  or  execute 
new  work.  He  was  too  near  to  his  misery.  He  had 
been  in  town,  now,  for  a  month;  but  he  had  done 
nothing.  He  was  engaged  daily  in  trying  to  realise 
that  his  old  life  had  stopped.  If  he  thought  at  all  he 
thought  as  those  stunned  by  grief  always  will,  in  pas- 
sages of  poignant  feeling.  His  nights  were  often  sleep- 
less. When  he  slept  he  often  dreamed  that  he  was  alone 
in  the  night,  looking  into  a  lit  room  where  Ottalie  stood, 
half-defined,  under  heavy  robes.  Then  he  would  wake 
with  a  start  to  realise  that  he  would  never  see  any 
trace  of  her  again,  beyond  the  few  relics  which  he  pos- 
sessed. 

Only  one  little  ray  of  light  gave  him  hope.  He 
wanted  to  rebuild  his  life  for  her.  He  wanted  to  be- 
come all  that  she  would  have  liked  him  to  become.  In 
any  case,  whatever  happened,  he  would  have  the  mem- 
ory of  her  to  guide  him  in  all  that  he  did.     But  he 

.137j 


138  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

felt,  every  now  and  then,  when  he  could  feel  at  all 
hopefully,  that  she  was  trying  to  help  him  to  become 
what  she  had  longed  for  him  to  be.  He  thought  that 
little  chance  happenings  in  life  were  signals  from  her 
in  the  other  world,  or,  if  not  signals,  attempts  to  move 
him,  attempts  to  make  him  turn  to  her;  things  full  of 
significance  if  only  he  could  interpret  them.  He  felt 
that  in  some  way  she  was  trying  to  communicate.  It 
was  as  though  the  telephone  had  broken.  It  was  as 
though  the  speaker  could  not  say  her  message  directly; 
but  had  to  say  it  in  fragments  to  erring,  forgetful, 
wayward  messengers,  who  forgot  and  lost  their 
sequence.  They  could  only  hint,  stammeringly,  at  the 
secret  revealed  to  them.  He  thought  that  she  had  sent 
him  some  message  about  sleeping  sickness,  using  the 
torn  page,  the  magazine,  and  the  naval  ofiicer,  as  her 
messengers.  There  were  those  three  little  w^ords  from 
her,  romantic,  like  words  heard  in  dream.  If  they  were 
not  from  her,  then  they  were  none  the  less  holy,  they 
were  intimately  bound  with  his  last  memories  of  her. 
Often  he  would  cry  out  in  his  misery  that  she  might  be 
granted  to  come  to  him  in  dream  to  complete  her  mes- 
sage. What  did  she  want  to  say  about  sleeping  sick- 
ness? 

He  could  not  guess.  He  could  only  say  to  himself 
that  for  some  hidden  reason  that  disease  had  been 
brought  to  his  notice  at  a  time  when  he  was  morbidly 
sensitive  to  impressions.     He  spent  many  hours  in  the 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  139 

British  Museum  studying  that  disease  as  closely  as  one 
not  trained  to  medical  research  could  hope  to  do.  He 
read  the  Reports  of  the  Commission,  various  papers 
in  The  Lancet,  the  works  of  Professor  Ronald  Ross  and 
Sir  Patrick  Manson,  the  summary  of  Low  in  Allbutt, 
the  deeply  interesting  articles  in  the  Journal  of  Trop- 
ical Medicine,  and  whatever  articles  he  could  find  in  re- 
views and  encyclopsedias. 

He  called  one  day  at  the  theatre  office  in  answer  to  a 
telegram  from  Ealempin.  Ealempin  had  something  to 
say  to  him.  He  had  flung  down  the  glove  to  the 
"  peegs,"  he  said,  by  keeping  on  The  Roman  Matron  for 
the  usual  weekly  eight  performances,  in  spite  of  the 
Press  and  the  public  wrath.  For  three  weeks  he  had 
played  it  to  empty  or  abusive  houses.  Then,  at  the 
end  of  the  third  week,  a  man  had  written  in  a  monthly 
review  that  The  Roman  Matron  was  the  only  play  of 
the  year,  and  that  all  other  English  plays  then  running 
in  London  were  so  many  symptoms  of  our  national  rot- 
tenness. The  writer  was  not  really  moved  by  The 
Roman  Matron.  He  was  a  town  wit,  trying  to  irri- 
tate the  public  by  praising  what  it  disliked,  and  by 
finding  a  moral  death  in  all  that  it  approved.  It  may 
be  said  of  such  that  they  cast  bread  upon  the  waters; 
but  the  genius,  as  a  rule,  does  not  find  it  until  many 
days.  In  this  case,  as  the  wit  was  at  the  moment  the 
fashion,  his  article  was  effectual  from  the  day  of  its 
publication.     The  actors  found  one  evening  an  atten- 


140  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

tive,  not  quite  empty  house.  Three  nights  later  the 
piece  went  very  well  indeed.  On  the  fourth  night  they 
were  called.  By  the  end  of  the  week  The  Roman  Ma- 
tron was  a  success,  playing  to  a  full  house. 

"  N"aldrett,"  said  Falempin,  "  I  'ave  lost  twelve  thou- 
sand pounds  over  your  play.  What  so  ?  I  go  to  make 
perhaps  forty  thousand.  Always  back  your  cards. 
The  peegs  they  will  eat  whatever  they  are  told.  Some 
of  the  papers  they  are  eating  their  words.  You  see? 
Here;  here  is  anozzer.  By  the  same  men,  I  think. 
Criticism?  T^ext  to  the  peegs,  I  do  lof  the  critic.  It 
likes  not  me,  these  funny  men.  What  is  the  English 
people  coming  to  ?  You  'ave  critics ;  you  'ave  very  fine 
critics.  But  they  'ave  no  power.  Zese  men  in  zese 
gutter  rags —  Pah.  We  go  to  make  you  many 
motor-cars  out  of  zis  play." 

Leslie  brought  his  wife  to  town  a  week  later.  She 
wished  to  consult  an  oculist.  Roger  dined  with  them 
the  night  after  their  arrival. 

"  Roger,"  said  Leslie,  "  I  want  you  to  meet  my 
cousin,  Mrs.  Heseltine.  She  wants  you  to  dine  with 
her  to-morrow  night.  We  said  that  we  would  bring  you 
if  you  were  free.  I  hope  that  you  will  come ;  she's  such 
a  splendid  person." 

Roger  said  that  he  would  go. 

That  evening  he  went  to  an  At  Home  given  in  honour 
of  a  great  French  poet  who  was  staying  in  London.  He 
had  no  wish  to  attend  the  function.     He  went  from  a 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  141 

sense  of  duty.  He  went  from  a  sense  of  what  was  due 
to  the  guardian  of  intellect.  The  At  Home  was  in 
Kensington,  in  a  big  and  hideous  house.  A  line  of  car- 
riages stood  by  the  kerb,  each  with  its  tortured  horses 
tossing  their  heads  piteously  against  the  bearing-reins. 
Flunkeys  with  white,  sensual  faces  stood  at  the  door. 
There  was  a  glitter  of  varnish  everywhere,  from  boots, 
carriages,  and  polished  metal.  There  was  not  much 
noise,  except  the  champ-champing  of  the  bits  and  the 
spattering  of  foam.  Carriage  doors  slammed  from  time 
to  time.  Loafers  insulted  those  who  entered.  Women 
and  children,  standing  by  the  strip  of  baize  upon  the 
sidewalk,  muttered  in  awed  hatred. 

Roger  w^ent  into  a  room  jammed  with  jabberers.  In 
the  middle  of  the  room  there  was  a  kind  of  circle,  a  sort 
of  pugilists'  ring,  in  which  the  poet  stood.  He  was  a 
little  stocky  man,  powerfully  built.  He  had  a  great 
head,  poised  back  on  his  shoulders  so  that  his  jaw  pro- 
truded aggressively.  It  needed  only  one  glance  to  see 
that  he  was  the  one  vital  person  in  the  room.  The  big, 
beefy,  successful  English  novelists  looked  like  bladders 
beside  him.  He  talked  in  a  voice  which  boomed  and 
rang.  People  crowded  up.  Ladies  in  wonderful  frocks 
broke  on  him,  as  it  were,  in  successions  of  waves.  He 
bowed,  he  was  shaken  by  the  hand,  he  was  pulled  by  the 
arm.  Questions  and  compliments  and  platitudes  came 
upon  him  in  every  known  variety  of  indifferent  French. 
He  never  ceased  to  talk.     He  could  have  talked  the 


142  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

room  to  a  standstill,  and  gone  on  fresh  to  a  dozen  like 
it.  He  was  talking  wisely,  too.  Roger  heard  half  of 
one  booming  epigram  as  he  caught  his  hostess'  eye.  She 
was  bringing  up  relays  of  platitudes  to  take  the  place  of 
those  already  exploded.  His  host,  sawing  the  air  with 
one  hand,  was  expounding  something  which  he  couldn't 
explain.  Roger  saw  him  compliment  the  poet  for  tak- 
ing his  point  without  exposition.  Exploded  platitudes 
ran  into  Roger  and  apologised.  Roger  ran  into  plati- 
tudes not  yet  exploded  and  apologised.  There  was  a 
gabble  everywhere  of  unintelligent  talk,  dominating  but 
not  silencing  the  great  voice.  Roger  heard  an  elegant 
young  man  speak  of  the  poet  as  "  a  bounder,  an  awful 
bounder."  Then  somebody  took  him  by  the  arm. 
Somebody  wanted  to  talk  to  him.  He  said  his  say  to 
the  great  man  while  being  dragged  to  somebody. 
Somebody  in  a  strange  kind  of  chiton  below  a  strange 
old  gold  Greek  necklace  was  telling  him  about  The 
Roman  Matron.     Did  he  write  it  ? 

"  Yes,"  he  said.     "  I  wrote  it." 

The  hostess  interposed.  The  chiton  was  borne  oif  to 
a  lady  in  Early  Victorian  dress.  A  little  grey  man, 
very  erect  and  wiry,  like  a  colonel  on  the  stage,  bumped 
into  Roger. 

"  Rather  a  crowd,  eh  ? "  he  said,  as  he  apologised. 
"  Have  you  seen  my  wife  anywhere  ?  " 

"  N"o,"  said  Roger.     "  Is  she  here  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  other.     "  I  believe  she  is.     Awfully 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  143 

well  the  old  fellow  looks,  doesn't  he?  I  met  him  in 
Paris  in  1890." 

They  talked  animatedly  for  ten  minutes  about  the 
prospects  of  French  literature  as  compared  with  our 
own.  Presently  the  little  man  caught  sight  of  his  wife. 
He  nodded  to  Roger  and  passed  on.  Roger  could  not 
remember  that  he  had  ever  seen  him  before. 

He  looked  about  for  some  one  with  whom  to  talk.  A 
couple  of  novelists  stood  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
room  talking  to  a  girl.  There  was  not  much  chance  of 
getting  to  them.  He  looked  to  his  left  hand,  where 
some  of  the  waste  of  the  party  had  been  drifted  by  the 
tide.  He  did  not  know  any  of  the  people  there.  He 
was  struck  by  the  appearance  of  a  young  man  who  stood 
near  the  wall,  watching  the  scene  with  an  interest  which 
was  half  contemptuous.  The  man  was,  perhaps,  thirty 
years  of  age.  What  struck  Roger  about  him  was  the 
strange  yellowTiess  of  his  face.  The  face  looked  as 
though  it  had  been  varnished  with  a  clear  amber  var- 
nish. The  skin  near  the  eyes  was  puckered  into  crows' 
feet.  The  brow  was  wrinkled  and  seamed.  The  rest 
of  the  face  had  the  leanness  and  tightness  of  one  who 
has  lived  much  in  unhealthy  parts  of  the  tropics.  He 
was  a  big  man,  though  as  lean  as  a  rake.  Roger  judged 
from  his  bearing  that  he  had  been  a  soldier;  yet  there 
was  a  touch  of  the  doctor  about  him,  too.  His  eyes 
had  the  direct  questioning  look  of  one  always  alert  to 
note  small  symptoms,   and  to  find  the  truth  of  facts 


144  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

through  evasions  and  deceits.  His  hands  were  large, 
capable,  clinical  hands,  with  long,  supple,  sensitive  fin- 
gers, broad  at  the  tips.  The  mouth  was  good-humoured, 
but  marred  by  the  scar  of  a  cut  at  the  left  corner. 

Presently  the  man  walked  up  to  Roger  with  the  in- 
imitable easy  grace  which  is  in  the  movements  of  men 
who  live  much  in  the  open. 

"  Excuse  me,"  he  said ;  "  but  who  is  the  poet  in  the 
middle  there  ? " 

"  Jerome  Mongeron,"  said  Roger. 

"  Thanks,"  said  the  man,  retiring. 

Roger  noticed  that  the  man's  eyes  were  more  blood- 
shot than  any  eyes  he  had  ever  seen.  Soon  after  that 
Roger  saw  him  lead  an  elderly  lady,  evidently  his 
mother,  out  of  the  room.  As  he  felt  that  he  had  bored 
himself  sufficiently  in  homage  to  the  man  of  intellect, 
he  too  slipped  away  as  soon  as  he  could. 

The  night  following  he  dined  with  Mrs.  Heseltine. 
She  was  an  elderly  lady,  fragile-looking,  but  very  beau- 
tiful, with  that  autumnal  beauty  which  comes  with  the 
beginning  grejTiess  of  the  hair.  Her  face  had  the  fine- 
ness of  race  in  it.  Looking  at  her,  one  saw  that  all  the 
unwanted,  unlovely  elements  had  been  bred  away,  by 
conscious  selection,  in  many  generations  of  Eawcetts. 
Her  face  had  that  simple  refinement  of  feature  which 
one  sees  in  the  women's  faces  in  Holbein's  drawing  of 
Sir  Thomas  More's  family.  Only  in  Mrs.  Heseltine 
the  striving  for  rightness  and  fineness  had  been  pushed 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  145 

a  little  too  far  at  the  expense  of  the  bodily  structure. 
There  was  a  pathetic  drooping  of  the  mouth's  corners, 
and  a  wild-bird  look  in  the  eye  which  told  of  physical 
weakness  very  bravely  borne.  Her  husband  was  a  brain 
specialist. 

She  wore  black  for  her  niece.  There  were  few  other 
guests.  It  was  a  family  party.  There  were  the  two 
Heseltines,  their  cousins  the  Luscombes,  the  two  Faw- 
cetts,  Ethel  Fawcett  (another  cousin),  a  woman  in 
morning  dress  who  had  just  been  speaking  at  a  suffrage 
meeting,  Eoger,  and  one  Lionel  who  was  very  late. 
They  waited  for  Lionel.  They  were  sure  that  Lionel 
would  not  be  long.  The  suffrage  speaker,  Miss  Len- 
ning,  asked  if  Lionel  were  better.  Yes.  The  new  treat- 
ment was  doing  him  good.  They  were  hoping  that  he 
would  get  over  it.  Roger  started  when  Mrs.  Hesel- 
tine's  voice  grew  grave.  There  were  notes  in  it 
strangely  like  Ottalie's  voice.  The  voice  reveals  char- 
acter more  clearly  than  the  face,  more  clearly  than  it 
reveals  character,  it  reveals  spiritual  power.  Until  he 
heard  those  gi-ave  notes  he  had  not  seen  much  of  Ot- 
talie  in  her,  except  in  the  way  in  which  she  sat,  the  head 
a  little  drooped,  the  hands  composed,  in  a  pose  which 
no  art  could  quite  describe,  it  was  so  like  her.  The 
words  thrilled  through  him,  as  though  the  dead  were 
in  the  room  under  a  disguise.  There  was  Leslie  look- 
ing at  him,  with  grave,  kindly  deliberation,  putting  up 
his  glasses  to  Ottalie's  eyes  with  Ottalie's  hand.     Ot- 


146  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

talie's  voice  spoke  to  him  through  Mrs.  Heseltine. 
They  were  away  in  one  corner  of  the  room  now,  look- 
ing at  a  drawing. 

"  I  have  so  often  heard  of  you,"  she  was  saying. 
"  Somehow  I  always  missed  you  when  I  was  at  Portobe. 
But  I  have  heard  of  you  from  Leslie,  and  from  poor 
Ottalie.  I  wanted  to  see  you.  I  have  been  waiting  to 
see  you  for  the  last  month.  I  wanted  to  tell  you  some- 
thing which  Ottalie  said  to  me,  when  my  boy  was  killed 
in  the  war.  She  said  that  when  a  life  ended,  like  that, 
suddenly  and  incomplete,  it  was  our  task  to  complete 
it,  for  the  world's  sake,  in  our  ov^m  lives."  She  paused 
for  an  instant,  and  then  added :  "  I  have  tried  to  real- 
ise what  my  boy  would  have  done.  I  hope  that  you 
will  come  to  talk  to  me  whenever  you  like.  Ottalie  was 
very  dear  to  me.  She  was  in  this  room,  looking  at  this 
drawing,  only  seven  weeks  ago."  She  faltered  for  a 
moment. 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Heseltine  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Talking  about  you,"  she  added  gently. 

"  Mr.  Heseltine,"  said  the  maid,  opening  the  door. 
The  man  with  the  yellow  face  and  injected  eyes  entered. 

"  Ah,  Lionel,"  said  Mrs.  Heseltine. 

"  I'm  awfully  sorry  I'm  so  late,"  he  said.  "  They've 
been  trying  a  new  cure  on  me.  It's  said  to  be  perma- 
nent ;  but  they've  only  tried  it  on  one  other  fellow  so  far. 
I  wish  you  hadn't  waited  for  me."  He  glanced  at 
Jloger  with  a  smile, 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  147 

"  D'you  know  Mr.  Heseltine,  Mr.  Naldrett  ?  " 

"  We  met  each  other  last  night,"  said  Roger.  "  At 
the  MacElherans'." 

"  Yes.     I  think  we  did,"  he  answered. 

Dinner  was  announced.  Roger  took  Miss  Lenning. 
Mrs.  Heseltine  sat  at  his  left.  Miss  Lenning  was  a  de- 
termined young  woman  with  no  nonsense  about  her. 
Roger  asked  if  her  speech  had  gone  well. 

"  Pretty  well,"  she  said.  "  I  was  on  a  wagon  in  the 
Park.  A  lot  of  loafers  rushed  the  wagon  once  or  twice. 
It's  the  sort  of  thing  London  loafers  delight  to  do." 

"  Yes,"  said  Roger.  "  That  is  because  the  part  of 
London  near  the  parks  is  not  serious.  It  is  a  part  given 
up  to  pleasure-mongers  and  their  parasites.  The 
crowds  there  don't  believe  in  anything,  they  won't  help 
anything,  they  can't  understand  anything.  In  the  East 
of  London  you  would  probably  get  attention.  I  suppose 
the  police  sniggered  and  looked  away  ?  " 

"  You  talk  as  though  you  had  been  at  it  yourself," 
said  Miss  Lenning. 

"Been  at  it?  Yes.  Of  course  I  have.  But  not 
very  much,  I'm  afraid.  I  used  to  speak  fairly  regu- 
larly. Then  at  your  big  meeting  in  the  Park  I  got  a 
rotten  egg  in  the  jaw,  which  gave  me  blood  poisoning. 
I  had  to  stop  then,  because  ever  since  then  I've  been  be- 
hindhand with  my  work.  A  London  crowd  is  a  crowd 
of  loafers  loafing.  But  a  crowd  in  a  northern  city, 
in  Manchester,  or  Leeds,  or  Glasgow,  is  a  very  different 


148  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

thing.  They  are  a  different  stock.  They  are  working 
men,  interested  in  things.  Here  they  are  idlers  de- 
lighting in  a  chance  of  rowdyism.  They  are  without 
chivalry  or  decent  feeling.  They  go  to  boo  and  jeer, 
knowing  that  the  police  won't  stop  them.  I  think  you 
women  are  perfectly  splendid  to  do  what  you  do,  and 
have  done." 

"  Oh,  one  doesn't  mind  going  to  prison,"  said  Miss 
Lenning.  "  I've  been  three  times  now.  Besides,  we 
shall  know  how  to  reform  the  prisons  when  we  get  the 
vote.  What  makes  my  blood  boil  are  the  insults  I  get 
in  the  streets  from  the  sort  of  men  whose  votes  are  re- 
sponsible for  disgraces  like  the  war."  She  stopped. 
"  What  is  your  line  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I'm  a  writer." 

"  Why  don't  you  write  a  play  or  a  novel  about 
us?" 

"  Because  I  don't  believe  in  mixing  art  with  propa- 
ganda. My  province  is  to  induce  emotion.  I  am  not 
going  to  use  such  talent  as  I  have  upon  intellectual 
puzzles  proper  to  this  time.  This  is  the  work  of  a  re- 
former or  a  leader-writer.  My  work  is  to  find  out  cer- 
tain general  truths  in  nature,  and  to  express  them,  in 
prose  or  verse,  in  as  high  and  living  a  manner  as  I  can. 
That  seems  absurd  to  you  ?  " 

"  Not  absurd  exactly,"  she  said,  "  but  selfish." 

"  You  think,  then,  that  a  man  who  passes  his  life  in 
trying  to  make  the  world's  thought  nobler,   and  the 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  149 

world's  character  thereby  finer,  must  necessarily  be 
selfish  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  do/'  she  said  firmly.  "  There  are  all  you 
writers  trying,  as  you  put  it,  to  make  the  world's 
thought  noble,  and  not  one  of  you  —  I  beg  your  pardon, 
only  three  of  you  —  lift  a  finger  to  help  us  get  the  vote. 
You  don't  really  care  a  rush  about  the  world's  thought. 
You  care  only  for  your  own  thought." 

"  And  your  own  thought  isn't  thought  at  all,"  said 
Major  Luscombe  from  over  the  table.  "  I  don't  mean 
yours,  personally,  of  course.  I  like  your  play  very 
much.  But  taking  writers  generally  throughout  the 
world,  what  does  the  literary  mind  contribute  to  the 
world's  thought  now  ?  Can  you  point  to  any  one  writer, 
anywhere  in  the  world,  whose  thoughts  about  the  world 
are  really  worth  reading  ?  " 

"  Yes.  To  a  good  many.  In  a  good  many  coun- 
tries," said  Eoger. 

"  I  have  no  quarrel  with  art,"  said  Heseltine,  taking 
up  the  cudgels.  "  It  is  moral  occupation.  But  I  feel 
this  about  modern  artists,  that,  with  a  few  exceptions, 
they  throw  down,  no  roots,  either  into  national  or  private 
life.  They  care  no  more  for  the  State,  in  its  religious 
sense,  than  they  care  (as,  say,  an  Elizabethan  would 
have  cared)  for  conduct.  They  seem  to  me  to  be  a 
company  of  men  without  any  common  principle  or  joint 
enthusiasm,  working,  rather  blindly  and  narrowly,  at 
the  bidding  of  personal  idiosyncrasy,  or  of  some  aberra- 


160  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

tion  of  taste.  A  few  of  you,  some  of  the  most  deter- 
mined, are  interested  in  social  reform.  The  rest  of  you 
are  merely  photographing  what  goes  on  for  the  amuse- 
ment of  those  who  cannot  photograph." 

"  Yes,"  said  Eoger.  "  At  present  you  are  condemn- 
ing modern  society.  "When  you  were  a  boy,  Dr.  Hesel- 
tine,  you  lived  in  an  ordered  world,  which  was  governed 
by  supernatural  religion,  excited  by  many  material  dis- 
coveries, and  kept  from  outward  anxiety  by  prosperity 
and  peace.  All  that  world  has  been  turned  topsy-turvy 
in  one  generation.  We  are  no  longer  an  ordered  world. 
I  believe  there  is  a  kind  of  bacillus,  isn't  there,  which, 
when  exposed  to  the  open  air,  away  from  its  home  in  the 
blood,  flies  about  wildly  in  all  directions  ?  That  is  what 
we  are  doing.  A  large  proportion  of  English  people, 
having  lost  faith  in  their  old  ruler,  supernatural  reli- 
gion, fly  about  wildly  in  motor-cars.  And,  unfortu- 
nately, material  prosperity  has  increased  enormously 
while  moral  discipline  has  been  declining;  so  that  now, 
while  we  are,  perhaps,  at  the  height  of  our  national 
prosperity,  there  is  practically  no  common  enthusiasm 
binding  man  to  man,  spirit  to  spirit.  It  is  difficult  for 
an  artist  to  do  much  more  than  to  reflect  the  moral  con- 
duct of  his  time,  and  to  cleanse,  as  it  were,  what  is  eter- 
nal in  conduct  from  its  temporary  setting.  If  the  world 
maintains,  as  I  hold  that  it  does,  that  there  is  nothing 
eternal,  and  that  moral  conduct  consists  in  going  a  great 
deal,  very  swiftly,  in  many  very  expensive  motor-cars, 


MULTITUDE  Al^D  SOLITUDE  151 

with  as  many  idle  companions  as  possible,  then  I  main- 
tain that  you  must  respect  the  artist  for  standing  alone 
and  working,  as  you  put  it,  '  rather  blindly  and  nar- 
rowly,' at  whatever  protest  his  personal  idiosyncrasy 
urges  him  to  make." 

"  That's  just  what  I  was  saying,"  said  Major  Lus- 
combe.  "  I  was  dining  with  Sir  Herbert  Chard  last 
night,  do^vn  at  Aldershot.  We  were  talking  military 
shop  rather.  About  conscription.  I  said  that  I 
thought  it  was  a  great  pity  that  universal  discipline  of 
some  kind  had  not  been  substituted  for  the  old  moral 
discipline,  which  of  course  we  all  remember,  and  I  dare 
say  were  the  last  to  get.  You  can't  get  on  without  dis- 
cipline." 

"  Ah,  but  that  is  preaching  militarism,"  said  Mrs. 
Heseltine ;  "  and  preaching  it  insidiously." 

"  The  military  virtues  are  the  bed-rock  of  character," 
said  the  Major. 

"  I  cannot  believe  that  character  is  taught  by  drill- 
sergeants  and  subalterns,"  said  Mrs.  Heseltine.  "  If  it 
is  taught  at  all,  it  is  taught  (perhaps  unconsciously)  by 
fine  men  and  women ;  and  to  some  extent  by  the  images 
of  noble  character  in  works  of  art.  I  see  no  chance  of 
moral  regeneration  in  conscription,  only  another  excuse 
for  vapouring,  and  for  that  kind  of  casting  off  of  judg- 
ment and  responsibility  which  goes  under  the  name  of 
patriotism." 

"  I   would  rather  establish   a  compulsory  study  of 


152  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

Equity,"  said  Koger.  "  Then  nations  might  judge  a 
cams  helU  justly,  on  its  merits,  instead  of  accepting  the 
words  of  newspapers  inspired  by  unscrupulous  usurers, 
as  at  present.  A  few  unprincipled  men,  mostly  of  the 
lowest  kind  of  commercial  Jew,  are  able  to  run  this 
country  into  war  whenever  they  like.  And  the  Briton^ 
believes  himself  to  be  a  level-headed  business  man." 

"  If  that  is  the  case,"  said  the  Major  triumphantly, 
"  it  proves  my  point.  If  we  are  likely  to  go  to  war,  we 
ought  to  be  prepared  for  war.  And  we  can  only  be 
prepared  if  we  establish  conscription.  And  if  we  are 
not  prepared,  we  shall  cease  as  a  nation.  It  is  your 
duty,  as  an  English  writer,  to  awaken  the  national  con- 
science by  a  play  or  novel,  so  that  when  the  time  comes 
we  may  be  prepared." 

"  My  duty  is  nothing  of  the  kind,"  said  Eoger.  "  I 
believe  war  to  be  a  wasteful  curse ;  and  the  preparation 
for  war  to  be  an  even  greater  curse,  and  infinitely  more 
wasteful.  I  am  not  a  patriot,  remember.  My  State  is 
mind.  The  human  mind.  I  owe  allegiance  to  that 
first.  I  am  not  going  to  set  Time's  clock  back  by 
preaching  war.  War  belongs  to  savages  and  to  obsolete 
anachronisms  like  generals.  You  think  that  that  is  de- 
cadence. That  I  am  a  weak,  spiritless,  little-Eng- 
lander,  who  will  be  swept  away  by  the  first '  still,  strong' 
man '  who  comes  along  with  '  a  mailed  fist.'  Very  well. 
I  have  no  doubt  that  brute  force  can  and  will  sweep 
away  most  things  not  brutal  like  itself.     It  may  sweep 


MULTITUDE  A^D  SOLITUDE  153 

me  away.  But  I  will  not  disgrace  my  century  by 
preaching  the  methods  of  Palaeolithic  man.  If  you 
want  war,  go  out  and  fight  waste.  I  suppose  that  two 
hundred  and  fifty  million  pounds  are  flung  away  each 
year  on  drink  and  armaments  in  this  country  alone.  I 
suppose  that  in  the  same  time  about  five  hundred 
pounds  are  spent  on  researches  into  the  causes  of  dis- 
ease. About  the  same  amount  is  given  away  to  reward 
intellectual  labours.  I  mean  labours  not  connected 
with  the  improvement  of  beer  or  dynamite.  Such  la- 
bours as  noble  imaginings  about  the  world  and  life." 
He  looked  at  Miss  Lenning,  whose  eye  was  kindling. 
ISTo  one  who  has  dabbled  in  politics  can  resist  rhetoric 
of  any  kind. 

"  You  send  women  to  prison  for  wanting  to  control 
such  folly/'  he  went  on.  "  Doesn't  he,  Miss  Lenning? 
If  I  am  to  become  a  propagandist,  I  will  do  so  in  the 
cause  of  liberty  or  knowledge.  I  would  write  for  Miss 
Lenning,  or  for  Dr.  Heseltine  there,  but  for  a  military 
man,  who  merely  wants  food  for  powder,  for  no  grand, 
creative  principle,  I  would  not  write  even  if  the  Nicara- 
guans  were  battering  St.  Paul's." 

"  Some  day,"  said  Mrs.  Heseltine,  "  we  may  become 
great  enough  to  give  up  all  this  idea  of  Empire,  and  set 
out,  like  the  French,  to  lead  the  world  in  thought  and 
manners.  We  might  achieve  something  then.  France 
was  defeated.  She  is  now  the  most  prosperous  and  the 
most  civilised  country  in  the  world." 


154  MULTITUDE  A:N^D  SOLITUDE 

"  And  the  least  vital,"  said  the  Major's  wife. 

"  But  what  do  you  mean  by  vital  ? "  said  Roger, 
guessing  that  she  was  repeating  a  class  catch-word. 
"  Vitality  is  shewn  by  a  capacity  for  thought." 

Maggie  Fawcett  interposed.  "  It's  a  very  curious 
state  of  things,"  said  she.  "  The  intellect  of  the  world 
is  either  trading,  fighting  for  trade,  or  preparing  to 
fight  for  trade.  It  is,  in  any  case,  pursuing  a  definite 
object.  But  the  imagination  of  the  world  is  engaged  in 
finding  a  stable  faith  to  replace  the  old  one.  It  is 
wavering  between  science  and  superstition,  neither  of 
which  will  allow  a  compromise.  You,  Mr.  !Naldrett,  if 
you  will  excuse  my  saying  so,  belong  to  the  superstition 
camp.  You  believe  that  a  man  is  in  a  state  of  grace  if 
he  goes  to  a  tragedy,  and  can  tell  a  Francesca  from  a 
Signorelli.  I  belong  to  the  science  camp,  and  I  believe 
that  that  camp  is  going  to  win.  It's  attracting  the 
better  kind  of  person ;  and  it  has  an  enthusiasm  which 
yours  has  not.  You  are  looking  for  an  indefinite,  rare, 
emotional  state,  in  which  you  can  apprehend  the  moral 
relations  of  things.  We  are  looking  for  the  material 
relations  of  things  so  that  the  rare  emotional  state  can 
be  apprehended,  not  by  rare,  peculiar  people,  such  as 
men  of  genius,  but  by  everybody." 

"  What  you  had  better  do,"  said  Dr.  Heseltine,  "  is, 
give  up  all  this  '  obsolete  anachronism  '  of  art.  Science 
is  the  art  of  the  twentieth  century.  You  cannot  paint 
or  write  in  the  grand  manner  any  longer.     That  has  all 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  155 

been  done.  Men  like  you  ought  to  be  stamping  out 
preventable  disease.  Instead  of  that,  you  are  writing 
of  what  Tom  said  to  James  while  Dick  fell  in  the  water. 
"With  a  fortieth  part  of  what  is  wasted  annually  on  the 
army  alone,  I  would  undertake  to  stamp  out  phthisis  in 
these  islands.  "With  another  fortieth  part  there  is  very 
little  doubt  that  cancer  could  be  stamped  out  too. 
With  another  fortieth  part,  wisely  and  scientifically  ad- 
ministered without  morbid  sentiment,  we  could  stamp 
out  crime  and  other  mental  diseases." 

"  The  motor-car  and  golf,  for  instance  ?  "  said  Ethel 
Fawcett. 

"  Yes.  And  betting,  '  sport,'  war,  idleness,  drink, 
vice,  tobacco,  tea,  all  the  abominations  of  life.  All  the 
reversions  to  incompleted  types.  You  ought  to  write 
a  play  or  a  novel  on  these  things.  I'm  not  speaking 
wildly.  I'm  speaking  of  a  proved  scientific  possibility 
of  relative  human  perfection.  Wlien  life  has  been  made 
glorious,  as  I  can  see  that  it  could  be  made,  then  you 
artists  could  set  to  work  to  decorate  it  as  much  as  you 
like." 

"  So,  then,"  said  Roger,  "  there  are  three  ways  to 
perfection,  by  admitting  women  to  the  suffrage,  by 
driving  men  into  the  army,  and  by  substituting  the 
College  of  Surgeons  for  the  Government.  Now  an  ar- 
tist is  concerned  above  all  things  with  moral  ideas.  He 
is  not  limited,  or  should  not  be,  to  particular  truths. 
His  world  is  the  entire  world,  reduced,  by  strict  and 


156  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

passionate  thinking,  to  its  imaginative  essence.  You 
and  your  schemes,  and  their  relative  importance,  are  my 
study,  and,  when  I  have  reduced  them  to  the  ideas  of 
progress  which  they  embody,  my  material.  I  think  that 
you  have  all  made  the  search  for  perfection  too  much 
a  question  of  profession.  It  is  not  a  question  of  pro- 
fession. It  is  a  question  of  personal  character." 
After  a  short  pause  he  went  on.  "  At  the  same  time, 
there  is  nothing  the  man  of  thought  desires  so  much  as 
to  be  a  man  of  action.  English  writers  (I  suppose  from 
their  way  of  bringing  up)  have  been  much  tempted  to 
action.  Byron  went  liberating  Greece.  Chaucer  was 
an  ambassador,  Spenser  a  sort  of  Irish  E.M.,  Shake- 
speare an  actor-manager  and  money-lender,  or,  as  some 
think,  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer.  Writing  alone 
is  not  enough  for  a  man." 

Leslie,  who  had  been  chatting  to  Ethel  Eawcett, 
looked  at  Roger  without  speaking.  Dinner  came  slowly 
to  an  end.  The  ladies  left  the  room.  The  men  settled 
into  their  chairs.  Dr.  Heseltine  moved  the  port  to 
Lionel,  with,  "  I  suppose  you're  not  allowed  this  ?  " 

Lionel  refused  the  port,  smiling.  He  put  a  white 
tabloid  into  a  little  soda-water  and  settled  into  the 
chair  next  to  Roger.  He  pulled  out  his  cigarette  case. 
"  Will  you  smoke  ?  "  he  asked.  "  These  are  rather  a 
queer  kind." 

"  No,  thanks,"  said  Roger.     "  I've  given  it  up." 

"  I  don't  think  I  could  do  that,"  said  Lionel,  select- 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  157 

ing  a  strange-looking  cigarette  done  up  in  yellow  paper, 
with  twisted  ends.  "  I  smoke  a  good  deal.  When  one's 
alone  one  wants  tobacco ;  one  gets  into  the  way  of  it." 

He  lit  a  cigarette  with  a  brown  hand  which  trembled. 
Roger,  noticing  the  tremor,  and  the  redness  of  the  man's 
eyes,  wondered  if  he  were  a  secret  drinker.  "  Are  you 
much  alone  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  A  good  deal,"  Lionel  answered.  "  I've  just  been 
reading  a  book  by  you;  it's  called  The  Handful.  I 
think  you  wrote  it,  didn't  you  ?  So  you've  been  in  the 
tropics,  too  ?  " 

"  I  went  to  stay  with  an  uncle  at  Belize,  five  years 
ago,"  said  Roger.     "  I  only  stayed  for  about  a  month." 

"  Belize,"  said  Lionel.  "  My  chief  was  in  Belize. 
Was  there  any  yellow  fever  there,  when  you  were 
there?" 

"  There  was  one  case,"  said  Rogen 

^'  Did  you  see  it  ?  " 

":N"o,"  said  Roger;  "I  didn't." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  yellow  fever,"  said  Lionel  sim- 
ply. "  I  suppose  there  was  a  good  deal  of  fuss  directly 
this  case  occurred  1 " 

"  Yes,"  said  Roger.  "  A  gang  came  round  at  once. 
I  think  they  put  paraffin  in  the  cisterns.  They  sealed 
the  infected  house  with  brown  paper  and  fumigated  it." 

"  And  that  stopped  it  ?  " 

"  Yes.     There  were  no  other  cases." 

"  It's  all  due  to  a  kind  of  mosquito,"  said  Lionel. 


158  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

"  The  white-ribbed  mosquito.  He  carries  the  organ- 
ism. You  put  paraffin  on  all  standing  puddles  and 
pools  to  prevent  the  mosquito's  larvae  from  hatching  out. 
My  old  chief  did  a  lot  of  work  in  Havana,  and  the 
West  Indies,  stampin'  out  yellow  fever.  It  has  made 
the  Panama  Canal  possible." 

"  Are  you  a  doctor,  then,  may  I  ask  ?  "  said  Eoger. 

"  !N'o,"  said  Lionel.  "  I  do  medical  research  work ; 
but  I  don't  know  much  about  it.  I  never  properly 
qualified.     I'm  interested  in  all  that  kind  of  thing." 

"  What  medical  research  do  you  do  ?  Would  it  bore 
you  to  tell  me  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  out  in  Uganda,  doing  sleeping  sick- 
ness." 

"  Have  you  ?  "  said  Roger.  "  That's  very  interest- 
ing. I've  been  reading  a  lot  of  books  about  sleeping 
sickness." 

"  Are  you  interested  in  that  kind  of  thing  ?  "  Lionel 
asked. 

"  Yes." 

"  If  you  care  to  come  round  to  my  rooms  some  time 
I  would  shew  you  some  relics.  I  live  in  Pump  Court. 
I'm  generally  in  all  the  morning,  and  between  four  and 
six  in  the  evening.  I  could  shew  you  some  trypano- 
somes.     They're  the  organisms." 

"  What  are  they  like  ?  "  Eoger  asked. 

"  They're  like  little  wriggly  flattened  membranes. 
Some  of  them  have  tails.     They  multiply  by  longitud- 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  159 

inal  division.  They're  unlike  anything  else.  They've 
got  a  pretty  bad  name." 

"  And  they  cause  the  disease  ?  " 

"  Yes.  You  know,  of  course,  that  they  are  spread 
by  the  tsetse  fly?  The  tsetse  fly  sucks  them  out  of  an 
infected  fish  or  mammal,  and  develops  them,  inside  his 
body  probably  for  some  time,  during  which  the  organ- 
ism probably  changes  a  good  deal.  When  the  tsetse 
bites  a  man,  the  developed  trypanosome  gets  down  the 
proboscis  into  the  blood.  About  a  week  after  the  bite, 
when  the  bite  itself  is  cured,  the  man  gets  the  ordinary 
trypanosome  fever,  which  makes  you  pretty  wretched, 
by  the  way." 

"  Have  you  had  it  ?  " 

"Yes;  rather.  I  have  it  now.  It  recurs  at  inter- 
vals." 

"  And  how  about  sleeping  sickness  ?  " 

"  You  get  sleeping  sickness  when  the  trypanosome 
enters  the  cerebro-spinal  fluid.  You  may  not  get  it  for 
six  or  seven  years  after  the  bite.  On  the  other  hand, 
you  may  get  it  almost  at  once." 

"  Then  you  may  get  it  ? "  said  Roger,  startled,  look- 
ing at  the  man  with  a  respect  which  was  half  pity. 

"  I've  got  it,"  said  Lionel. 

"  Got  it  ?  You  ?  "  said  Roger.  He  stumbled  in  his 
speech.  "  But,  forgive  my  speaking  like  this,"  he  said ; 
"  is  there  a  cure,  then  ?  " 

"  It's  not  certain  that  it's  a  permanent  cure,"  said 


160  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

LioneL  "  I've  just  started  it.  It's  called  atoxyl.  Be- 
fore I  tried  atoxyl  I  had  another  thing  called  trypan- 
roth,  made  out  of  aniline  dye.  It  has  made  my  eyes 
red,  you  see?  Dyed  them.  You  can  have  'em  dyed 
blue,  if  you  prefer.  But  red  was  good  enough,  I 
thought.  !N'ow  I'm  afraid  I'm  talking  rather  about 
myself." 

"  'No,  indeed ;  I'm  intensely  interested,"  said  Roger. 
"  Tell  me  more.  Tell  me  about  the  sickness  in  Uganda. 
Is  it  really  bad  ?  " 

"  Pretty  bad,"  said  Lionel.  "  I  suppose  that  a  couple 
of  hundred  thousand  men  and  women  have  died  of  it 
during  the  last  seven  years.  I  don't  know  how  many 
animals  besides.  The  tsetse  will  bite  pretty  nearly 
every  living  thing,  and  everything  it  bites  gets  disease 
of  some  sort.  You  see,  trypanosomiasis  is  probably  a 
new  thing  in  Uganda.  New  diseases  are  often  very 
deadly,  I  believe." 

"  Is  the  tsetse  migrating,  then,  or  can  the  thing  be 
conveyed  by  contagion  ?  " 

"  No.  I  don't  think  it's  a  contagious  thing.  I 
should  say  it  almost  certainly  isn't.  It  needs  direct 
inoculation.  And  as  far  as  we  know  the  tsetse  keeps 
pretty  near  to  one  place  all  through  its  life." 

"  I  know  a  writer  who  claims  that  we  are  spreading 
it.     Is  that  so  ?  " 

"  Indirectly.  You  see,  East  Africa  is  not  like  Amer- 
ica or  any  other  horse  country.     You  haven't  got  much 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  161 

means  of  transport,  except  bearers,  unless  you  go  by 
river,  and  even  then  you  may  have  to  make  portages. 
Going  with  natives  from  one  district  to  another  is  sure 
to  spread  the  infection.  When  infected  people  come  to 
a  healthy  district,  their  germs  are  sure  to  be  inoculated 
into  the  healthy  by  some  tick  or  bug,  even  if  there  are 
no  tsetses  to  do  it.  I  believe  there  are  trypanosomes 
in  the  hut-bugs.  I  don't  know,  though,  that  hut-bugs 
are  guiltier  than  any  other  kind.  It's  impossible  to 
say.  From  the  hour  you  land  until  the  hour  you  sail, 
you  are  always  being  bitten  or  stung  by  something. 
Bugs,  ticks,  fleas,  lice,  mosquitoes,  tsetses,  ants,  jiggers, 
gads,  hippos,  sandflies,  wasps.  You  put  on  oil  of  lav- 
ender, if  you  have  any.  But  even  with  that  you  are  al- 
ways being  bitten." 

"  And  what  is  the  tsetse  bite  like  ? " 

"  You've  been  to  Portobe,  haven't  you  ?  I  remember 
Ottalie  Fawcett  speaking  of  you,  years  ago,  before  I 
went  out.  You  had  that  cottage  at  the  very  end  of  the 
loaning,  just  above  the  sea?  Well.  Did  you  ever  go 
on  along  the  cliff  from  there  to  a  place  where  you  have 
to  climb  over  a  very  difficult  barbed-wire  fence  just 
under  an  ash-tree  ?  I  mean  just  before  you  come  to  a 
nunnery  ruin,  where  there  is  a  little  waterfall  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Koger.  "  I  know  the  exact  spot. 
There  used  to  be  a  hawk's  nest  in  the  cliff  just  below  the 
barbed  wire." 

"  Well,  just  there,  there  are  a  lot  of  those  reddy- 


162  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

grey  flies  called  clegs.  You  get  tliem  going  up  to  Ess- 
na-Lara.  That's  another  place.  They  bite  the  horses. 
You  must  have  been  bitten  by  them.  Well,  a  tsetse 
is  not  much  like  a  cleg  to  look  at.  It's  duller  and 
smaller.  It's  likest  to  a  house-fly,  except  for  the  wings, 
which  are  unlike  any  other  kind  of  insect  wings.  It 
comes  at  you  not  unlike  a  cleg.  You  know  how  savage 
a  cleg  is?  He  dashes  at  you  without  any  pretence. 
He  only  feints  when  he  is  just  going  to  land.  And  he 
follows  you  until  you  kill  him.  A  tsetse  is  like  that. 
He'll  follow  you  for  half  a  mile,  giving  you  no  peace. 
Like  a  cleg,  he  settles  down  on  you  very  gently,  so  that 
you  don't  notice  him.  You'll  remember  the  mosquitoes 
at  Belize.  Mosquitoes  are  like  that.  Then,  when  he 
has  sucked  his  fill  and  unscrewed  his  gimlet,  you  feel  a 
smarting  itch,  and  see  your  hand  swollen.  If  you  are 
not  very  well  at  the  time  a  tsetse  bite  can  be  pretty 
bad.  If  you'll  come  to  my  rooms  some  time  I'll  show 
you  some  tsetse.  They're  nothing  to  look  at.  They're 
very  like  common  house-flies." 

"  And  you  have  been  studying  all  this  on  the  spot  ? 
Will  you  tell  me  what  made  you  take  to  it  ? " 

"  Oh,  I  was  always  interested  in  that  kind  of  thing. 
I've  always  liked  hot  climates,  and  being  in  wild,  lonely 
places.  And  then  my  old  chief  was  a  splendid  fellow. 
He  made  me  interested.  I  got  awfully  keen  on  it.  I 
want  to  go  out  again.  You  know,  I  want  to  get  at 
the  bottom  of  the  trypanosome.     His  life-history  isn't 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  163 

known  yet,  as  we  know  the  cycle  of  the  malaria  para- 
site. We  don't  even  know  what  it  is  in  him  which 
causes  the  disease.  And  we  don't  know  very  much 
really  about  the  tsetse,  nor  what  part  the  tsetse  plays  in 
the  organism's  life.  There's  a  lot  which  I  should  like 
to  find  out,  or  try  to  find  out.  It's  the  trying  which 
gives  one  the  pleasure." 

"  But  I  think  it's  heroic  of  you,"  said  Roger.  "  Are 
there  many  of  you  out  there,  doing  this  ?  " 

"  Not  very  many." 

"  It's  a  heroic  thing  to  do,"  said  Roger.  "  Heroic. 
The  loneliness  alone  must  make  it  heroic." 

"  You  get  used  to  the  loneliness.  It  gives  you  nerves 
at  first.  But  in  my  opinion  the  heat  keeps  you  from 
thinking  much  about  the  loneliness.  I  like  heat  myself, 
but  it  takes  it  out  of  most  of  the  griffs.  The  heat  can 
be  pretty  bad."         * 

"  All  the  same,  it  is  a  wonderful  thing  to  do." 

"  Yes.  It's  a  good  thing  to  spot  the  cause  of  a  dis- 
ease like  that.  But  you  over-rate  the  heroic  part.  It's 
all  in  the  day's  work.  One  takes  it  as  it  comes,  and 
one  has  a  pretty  good  time,  too.  One  never  thinks  of 
the  risk,  which  is  really  very  slight.  Doctors  face 
worse  things  in  London  every  day.  So  do  nurses.  A 
doctor  was  telling  me  only  the  other  day  how  a  suc- 
cession of  nurses  went  down  to  a  typhus  epidemic  and 
died  one  after  the  other.  There's  nothing  like  that  in 
the  Protectorate  with  sleeping  sickness." 


164  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

"  But  being  the  only  white  man,  away  in  the  wilds, 
with  the  natives  dying  all  round  you !  " 

"  Yes.  That  is  pretty  bad.  I  was  in  the  middle  of 
a  pretty  bad  outbreak  in  a  little  place  called  Ikupu.  It 
was  rather  an  interesting  epidemic,  because  it  hap- 
pened in  a  place  where  there  weren't  any  of  the  tsetse 
which  is  supposed  to  do  the  harm.  They  may  have 
been  there;  but  I  couldn't  find  any.  It  must  have 
been  another  kind  which  did  the  damage  at  Ikupu.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  I  did  find  trypanosomes  in  another 
kind  there,  which  was  rather  a  feather  in  my  cap. 
Well,  I  was  alone  there.  My  assistant  died  of  black- 
water  fever.  And  there  I  was  with  a  sleeping  village. 
There  were  about  twenty  cases.  Most  of  the  rest  of 
the  natives  ran  away,  and  no  doubt  spread  the  infec- 
tion. Those  twenty  cases  were  pretty  nearly  all  the 
society  of  Ikupu.  Some  were  hardly  ill  at  all.  They 
just  had  a  little  fever,  perhaps,  or  a  skin  complaint  on 
the  chest,  and  tender,  swollen  glands.  Others  were  just 
as  bad  as  they  could  be.  They  were  in  all  stages  of  the 
disease.  Some  were  just  beginning  to  mope  outside 
their  huts.  Others  were  sitting  still  there,  not  even  car- 
ing to  ask  for  food,  just  moping  away  to  death,  with 
their  mouths  open.  Generally,  one  gets  used  to  see- 
ing that  sort  of  thing ;  but  I  got  nerves  that  time.  You 
see,  they  were  rather  a  special  tribe  at  Ikupu.  They 
called  themselves  Obmali,  or  some  such  name.  Their 
lingo  was  rather  rummy.     Talking  with  the  chief  I 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  165 

got  the  impression  that  they  were  the  relics  of  a  tribe 
which  had  been  wiped  out  further  west.  They  believed 
that  sleeping  sickness  was  caused  by  a  snake-woman  in 
a  swampy  part  of  the  forest.  Looking  after  all  those 
twenty  people,  and  taking  tests  from  them,  gave  me 
fever  a  good  deal.  That  is  one  thing  you  have  to  get 
used  to  —  fever.  You  get  used  to  doing  your  work 
with  a  temperature  of  one  hundred  and  two  degrees. 
It's  queer  about  fever.  Any  start,  or  shock,  or  extra 
work,  may  bring  it  on  you.  I  had  it,  as  I  said,  a  good 
deal.  Well,  I  got  into  the  way  of  thinking  that  there 
was  a  snake-woman.  A  woman  with  a  puff-adder  head, 
all  mottled.  I  used  to  barricade  my  hut  at  night 
against  her." 

Dr.  Heseltine  drew  his  chair  up.  "What  are  you 
two  discussing  ?  Talking  about  sleeping  sickness  ?  "  he 
asked.  "  How  does  the  new  treatment  suit  you, 
Lionel  ?  !N"o  headache,  I  hope  ?  It's  apt  to  make  you 
headachy.  There's  a  subject  for  a  play  for  you,  Mr. 
iN'aldrett.  *  Man  and  the  Trypanosome.'  You  could 
bring  the  germs  on  to  the  stage,  and  kill  them  off  with 
a  hypodermic  syringe." 

"  Yes,"  said  Roger.  "  It  has  all  the  requirements  of 
a  modern  play:  strength,  silence,  and  masculinity. 
There's  even  a  happy  ending  to  it." 

Lionel  began  to  talk  to  Dr.  Heseltine.  Roger  crossed 
the  room  to  talk  to  Leslie.  He  heard  Lionel  saying 
something  about  "  waiting  to  give  the  monkey  a  chance." 


166  MULTITUDE  A:^D  SOLITUDE 

He  did  not  get  another  talk  with  Lionel  that  night. 
After  they  joined  the  ladies,  Ethel  Fawcett  sang.  She 
had  a  good,  hut  not  very  strong  voice.  She  sang  some 
Schumann  which  had  been  very  dear  to  Ottalie.  Her 
voice  was  a  little  like  Ottalie's  in  the  high  notes.  It 
haunted  Eoger  all  the  way  home,  and  into  his  lonely 
room.  Sitting  down  before  the  fireplace  he  had  a  sud- 
den vision  of  drenching  wet  grass,  and  a  tangle  of  yel- 
lowing honeysuckle,  heaped  over  a  brook  which  gurgled. 
For  an  instant  he  had  the  complete  illusion  of  the  smell 
of  meadowsweet,  and  Ottalie  coming  singing  from  the 
house,  so  sharply  that  he  gasped. 


VII 

Sweet  virgin  rose,  farewell.     Heaven  has  thy  beauty, 
That's  only  fit  for  Heaven.     I'll  live  a  little. 
And  then,  most  blessed  soul,  I'll  climb  up  to  thee. 
Farewell.  The  Night  Walker ;  or,  The  Little  Thief. 

THE  next  morning  he  found  upon  bis  plate  a 
letter  in  a  strange  hand.  The  writing  was 
firmly  formed,  but  ugly.  The  letters  bad  a 
w^ay  of  lying  down  upon  each  other  towards  the  end  of 
each  word.  It  was  not  a  literary  hand.  It  was  from 
Lionel  Heseltine. 

"  400a,  Pump  Court,  Temple. 
"Dear  ]\Ir.  Xaldrett  (it  ran), 

"  If  you  would  like  to  see  my  relics,  will  you 
come  round  next  Thursday  to  my  rooms  between  4  and 
5  ?  You  will  see  my  name  on  the  doorpost  outside.  I 
am  up  at  the  top.  Your  best  way  would  be  Under- 
ground to  the  Temple,  and  then  up  Middle  Temple 
Lane.  If  the  Lane  door  is  shut  you  will  have  to  go  up 
into  the  Strand  and  then  round.  I  hope  you  will  be 
able  to  come. 

"  Yours  sincerely, 

"  Lionel  Heseltine." 
167 


168  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

He  replied  that  he  would  gladly  join  liim  there  on 
Thursday.  He  wished  that  Thursday  were  not  still  six 
days  away.  He  was  drawn  to  all  these  people  who  had 
known  Ottalie.  They  were  parts  of  her  life.  He  real- 
ised now  how  much  people  must  be  in  a  woman's  life. 
A  man  has  work,  and  the  busy  interests  created  by  it. 
A  woman  has  friends  and  the  emotions  roused  by  them. 
This  world  of  Ottalie's  friends  was  new  to  him.  He 
tried  to  look  upon  them  as  she  would  have  looked  upon 
them.  These  had  kno^\^l  her  intimately  since  her  child- 
hood. They  had  been  in  her  mind  continually.  She 
had  lived  with  them.  He  had  often  felt  vaguely  jealous 
of  them,  when  he  had  heard  her  talk  of  them  with 
Agatha ;  or  if  not  jealous,  sad,  that  he  should  not  have 
access  to  that  side  of  her. 

He  was  drawn  to  them  all,  but  Lionel  attracted  him 
the  most  strongly.  Some  of  his  liking  for  Lionel  was 
mere  instinctive  recognition  of  an  inherent  fineness  and 
simplicity  in  the  man's  character.  But  there  was  more 
than  that.  He  had  often  felt  that  in  life,  as  in  nature, 
there  is  a  constant  effort  to  remedy  the  unnatural.  The 
inscrutable  agency  behind  life  offers  always  wisely  some 
restoration  or  readjustment  of  a  balance  disturbed.  He 
felt  that  a  tide  had  quickened  in  his  life,  at  the  last 
ebbing  of  the  old.  In  the  old  life  all  had  been  to  please 
Ottalie.  Life  was  more  serious  now.  He  could  not  go 
back  all  at  once  to  a  life  interrupted  as  his  had  been. 
Life  was  not  what  he  had  thought  it.     In  the  old  days 


MULTITUDE  AXD  SOLITUDE  169 

it  had  suiEced  to  brood  upon  beautiful  images,  till  his 
mind  had  reflected  them  clearly  enough  for  his  hand  to 
write  dowTi  their  evocative  s^Tubols.  He  was  not  too 
young  to  perceive  the  austerer  beauty  in  the  room  of 
life  beyond  the  room  in  which  youth  takes  his  pleasure. 
But  so  far  his  life  had  been  so  little  serious  that  he 
had  lacked  the  opportunity  of  perceiving  it.  !N^ow  the 
old  world  of  the  beauty  of  external  image,  well-defined 
and  richly  coloured,  was  shattered  for  him.  He  saw 
how  ugly  a  thing  it  was,  even  as  a  plaything  or  decora- 
tion, beside  the  high  and  tragical  things  of  life  and 
death.  It  was  his  misfortune  to  have  lived  a  life  with- 
out deep  emotions.  ^o\v  that  sorrows  came  upon  him 
together,  smiting  him  mercilessly,  it  was  his  misfor- 
tune to  be  without  a  friend  capable  of  realising  wdiat  the 
issue  warring  in  him  meant.  O'Xeill  had  sent  him  a 
note  from  Ubrique  in  Andaluz,  asking  him  to  order  a 
supply  of  litharge  for  his  experiments,  which  were 
"  wonderful."  Pollock  had  sent  him  a  note  from 
LjTiie,  repaying,  "  with  many,  many  thanks,"  the  loan 
of  fifty  g-uineas.  His  "  little  girl  was  very  well,  and 
Kitty  was  wonderful."  Besides  these  two  he  had  no 
other  intimate  friends.  Leslie,  a  much  finer  person 
than  either  of  them,  might  have  understood  and  helped 
his  mood ;  but  Leslie  had  been  away  in  Ireland  since 
the  first  fortnight.  Being,  therefore,  much  alone  in 
his  misery,  Roger  had  come  to  look  upon  himself  in 
London  as  the  one  sentient,  tortured  thing  in  a  callous 


iro  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

ant-swarm.  He  was  shrinking  from  the  sharp  points 
of  contact  with  the  world  on  to  still  sharper  internal 
points  of  dissatisfaction  with  himself.  It  was,  there- 
fore, natural  that  he  should  be  strongly  attracted  by 
a  man  who  carried  a  mortal  disease,  with  a  grave  and 
cheerful  spirit,  serenely  smiling,  able,  even  in  this  last 
misfortune,  to  feel  that  life  had  been  ordered  well,  in 
accordance  with  high  law.  The  more  he  thought  of 
Lionel,  the  more  he  came  to  envy  that  life  of  mingled 
action  and  thought  which  had  tempered  such  a  spirit. 
In  moments  of  self-despising  he  saw,  or  thought  that  he 
saw,  this  difference  between  their  lives.  He  himself 
was  like  an  old  king  surprised  by  death  in  the  treasure- 
house.  He  had  piled  up  many  jewels  of  many-gleam- 
ing thought;  he  was  robed  in  purple;  his  brain  was 
heavy  from  the  crown's  weight.  And  all  of  it  was  a 
heavy  uselessness.  He  could  take  away  none  of  it. 
The  treasure  was  all  dust,  rust,  and  rags.  He  was  a 
weak  and  fumbling  human  soul  shut  away  from  his 
bright  beloved,  not  only  by  death,  but  by  his  own  swad- 
dled insufficiency.  Lionel,  on  the  other  hand,  was  a 
crusader,  dying  outside  the  Holy  City,  perhaps  not  in 
sight  of  it,  but  so  fired  with  the  idea  of  it  that  death  was 
a  little  thing  to  him.  All  his  life  had  been  death  for 
an  idea.  All  his  life  had  made  dying  easier.  Eoger's 
tortured  mind  was  not  soothed  by  thinking  how  their 
respective  souls  would  look  after  death.  Some  men 
laid  up  treasures  in  heaven,  others  laid  up  treasures  on 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  171 

earth.  The  writer,  doubting  one  and  despising  the 
other,  h\id  up  treasures  in  limbo.  He  began  to  under- 
stand O'Xeill's  remark  that  it  was  "  the  most  difficult 
thing  in  the  world  for  an  artist  both  to  do  good  work  and 
to  save  his  own  soul."  Little,  long-contemned  scraps  of 
mediaeval  theology,  acquired  in  the  emotional  mood  dur- 
ing which  he  had  been  pre-Raphaelite,  appealed  to  him 
again,  suddenly,  as  not  merely  attractive  but  wise. 
Often,  at  times  of  deep  emotion,  in  the  fear  of  death, 
the  mind  finds  more  significance  in  things  learned  in 
childhood  than  in  the  attainments  of  maturity.  This 
emotion,  the  one  real  passionate  emotion  of  his  life,  had 
humbled  him.  Life  had  suddenly  shewm  itself  in  its 
primitive  solemnity.  The  old  life  was  all  ashes  and 
whirling  dust.  He  understood  something,  now,  of  the 
conflict  going  on  in  life.  But  he  understood  it  quak- 
ingly,  as  a  prophet  hears  the  voice  in  the  niglit.  He 
saw  his  o^vn  soul  shrivelling  like  a  leaf  in  the  presence 
of  a  great  reality.  He  had  to  establish  that  soul's  foun- 
dations before  he  could  sit  down  again  to  work.  The 
artist  creates  the  image  of  his  o^^nl  soul.  When  he  sees 
the  insufficiency  of  that  soul,  he  can  either  remedy  it  or 
take  to  criticism. 

Thinking  over  the  talk  of  the  night  before,  he  won- 
dered at  the  train  of  events  which  had  altered  the  course 
of  his  thinking.  Lionel,  a  few  weeks  before,  would 
have  been  to  him   a  charming,   interesting,   but  mis- 


172  MULTITUDE  AIN^D  SOLITUDE 

guided  man,  wandering  in  one  of  those  sandy,  sono- 
rously named  Desarts  where  William  Blake  puts  ISTew- 
ton,  Locke,  and  those  other  fine  intellects,  with  whom  he 
was  not  in  sympathy,  ^ow  he  saw  that  Lionel  was 
ahead  of  him  on  the  road.  Thinking  of  Lionel,  and 
wishing  that  he,  too,  had  done  something  for  his  fellows, 
he  traced  the  course  of  a  tide  of  affairs  which  had  been 
setting  into  his  mind.  It  had  begun  with  that  blowing 
paper  in  the  garden,  as  a  beginning  tide  brings  rub- 
bish with  it.  ISTow  it  was  in  full  flood  with  him,  lifting 
liim  over  shallows  where  he  had  long  lain  grounded. 
He  began  to  doubt  whether  literature  was  so  fine  a  thing 
as  he  had  thought.  Science,  so  cleanly  and  fearless, 
was  doing  the  poet's  work,  while  the  poet,  taking  his 
cue  from  Blake,  maligned  her  with  the  malignity  of 
ignorance.  What  if  poetry  were  a  mere  antique  sur- 
vival, a  pretty  toy,  which  attracted  the  fine  mind,  and 
held  it  in  dalliance  ?  There  were  signs  everywhere  that 
the  day  of  belles-lettres  was  over.  Good  intellects  were 
no  longer  encouraged  to  write,  "  pricked  on  by  your 
popes  and  kings."  More  than  that,  good  intellects  were 
less  and  less  attracted  to  literature.  The  revelation  of 
the  age  was  scientific,  not  artistic.  He  tried  to  formu- 
late to  himself  what  art  and  science  were  expressing,  so 
that  he  might  judge  between  them.  Art  seemed  to  him 
to  be  taking  stock  of  past  achievement,  science  to  be  on 
the  brink  of  new  revelations. 

He  knew  so  little  of  science  that  his  thought  of  it  was 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  173 

little  more  than  a  consideration  of  sleeping  sickness. 
He  reviewed  his  knowledge  of  sleeping  sickness.  He 
thought  of  it  no  longer  as  an  abstract  intellectual  ques- 
tion, but  as  man's  enemy,  an  almost  human  thing,  a 
pestilence  walking  in  the  noonday.  Out  in  Africa  that 
horror  walked  in  the  noonday,  stifling  the  brains  of  men. 
It  fascinated  him.  He  thought  of  the  little  lonely  sta- 
tions of  scientists  and  soldiers,  far  away  in  the  wilds,  in 
the  midst  of  the  disease,  perhaps  feeling  it  coming  on, 
as  Lionel  must  have  felt  it.  They  were  giving  up  their 
lives  cheerily  and  unconcernedly  in  the  hope  of  saving 
the  lives  of  others.  That  was  a  finer  way  of  living  than 
sitting  in  a  chair,  writing  of  what  Dick  said  to  Tom 
when  Joe  fell  in  the  water.  He  went  over  in  his  mind 
the  questions  which  science  had  to  solve  before  the  dis- 
ease could  be  stamped  out.  He  wondered  if  there  were 
in  the  literary  brain  some  quickness  or  clearness  which 
the  scientific  brain  wanted.  He  wondered  if  he  might 
solve  the  questions.  Great  discoveries  are  made  by  dis- 
coverers, not  always  by  seekers.  What  was  mysterious 
about  the  sleej)ing  sickness  ? 

A  little  thought  reduced  his  limited  knowledge  to 
order.  The  disease  is  spreading  eastwards  from  the 
West  Coast  of  Africa  between  16°  north  and  16°  south 
latitude,  keeping  pretty  sharply  within  the  thirty-two 
degrees,  north  and  south.  It  is  caused  by  an  organism 
called  a  trypanosome,  which  enters  the  blood  through 
the  probosces  of  biting  flies.     It  kills,  when  the  organ- 


174  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

ism  enters  the  cerebro-spinal  fluid.  So  much  was  sure. 
He  could  not  say  with  certainty  why  the  disease  is 
spreading  eastwards,  nor  why  the  trypanosome  causes 
it,  nor  how  the  fly  obtains  the  trypanosome,  nor  what 
happens  to  the  trypanosome  in  the  fly's  body.  His 
ignorance  thus  resolved  itself  into  four  heads. 

As  to  the  spreading  of  the  disease  eastwards,  Lionel, 
who  had  lived  in  the  country,  might  know  a  reason  for 
it.  He  would  at  least  have  heard  what  the  natives  and 
the  older  settlers  thought.  Residents'  reasons  gener- 
ally range  from  stories  of  snake-headed  women  in  the 
swamp,  to  tales  of  a  queer  case  of  gin,  or  of  "  European 
germs  changed  by  the  climate."  The  simple  explana- 
tion was  that  in  mid- Africa  human  communications  are 
more  frequent  from  the  west  to  the  east  than  from  the 
east  to  the  west.     The  Congo  is  the  highway. 

He  knew  that  the  trypanosome  is  carried  by  the  wild 
game.  In  long  generations  of  suffering  the  African 
big  game  has  won  for  itself  the  power  of  resisting  the 
trypanosomes.  Although  the  trypanosomes  abound  in 
their  blood,  the  wild  animals  do  not  develop  "  nagana  " 
or  "  surra,"  the  diseases  which  the  tsetse  bite  sets  up  in 
most  domestic  animals.  Something  has  been  bred  into 
their  beings  which  checks  the  trypanosome's  power. 
The  animals  are  immune,  or  salted.  But  although  they 
are  immune,  the  wild  animals  are  hosts  to  the  trypano- 
some. In  the  course  of  time,  when  they  migrate  before 
the  advance  of  sportsmen,  or  in  search  of  pasture  into 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  175 

tsetse  country  as  yet  uninfected  with  trypanosome,  the 
tsetses  attacking  them  suck  the  infected  blood  and  re- 
ceive the  organisms  into  their  bodies.  Later  on,  as 
they  bite,  they  transfer  the  organisms  to  human  beings, 
who  develop  the  disease.  Plainly,  a  single  migratory 
animal  host,  or  a  single  infected  slave,  suffering  from 
the  initial  feverish  stages,  might  travel  for  three  or  four 
months,  infecting  a  dozen  tsetses  daily,  along  his  line  of 
march.  One  man  or  beast  might  make  the  route  danger- 
our  for  all  w^ho  followed.  Roger  remembered  how  the 
chigoe  or  jigger-flea  had  travelled  east  along  the  Congo, 
to  establish  itself  as  an  abiding  pest  wherever  there  was 
sand  to  shelter  it. 

As  to  the  action  of  the  trypanosome  upon  the  human 
being,  that  was  a  question  for  trained  scientists.  It 
probably  amounted  to  little  more  than  a  battle  with  the 
white  corpuscles. 

He  passed  the  next  few  days  at  the  Museum,  study- 
ing the  disease. 

Mrs.  Holder,  who  did  for  Lionel,  let  him  in  to 
Lionel's  rooms  on  Thursday.  "  Mr.  Heseltine  was  ex- 
pecting him,  and  would  be  in  in  a  minute.  Would  he 
take  a  seat  ? "  He  did  so.  The  rooms  were  the  top 
chambers  of  a  house  in  Pump  Court.  They  were  nice 
light  airy  chambers,  sparely  furnished.  The  floor  was 
covered  with  straw-matting.  The  chairs  were  deck- 
chairs.  There  were  a  few  books  on  a  bookshelf.  Most 
of  them  were  bound  files  of  the  Lancet  and  British 


176  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

Medical  Journal.  A  few  were  medical  books,  picked 
up  cheap  at  second-band  sbops,  as  tbe  price  labels  on 
the  backs  testified.  Tbe  rest  were  mostly  military  his- 
tory: The  Jena  Campaign;  Hoenig's  Twenty-four 
Hours  of  MoUhe's  Strategy;  Meckel's  Tactics  and  Som- 
mernaclit's  Traum;  Chancellorsville ;  Colonel  Hender- 
son's Life  of  Stonewall  Jachson;  Essays  on  the  Science 
of  War  and  Spicheren;  Wolseley's  Life  of  Marlborough; 
Colonel  Maude's  Leipzig;  Stoffel's  contribution  to  the 
Vie  de  Jules  Cesar ;  a  battered  copy  of  Mahan's  War  of 
1812;  and  three  or  four  small  military  text-books  on 
Reconnaissance,  Minor  Tactics,  Infantry  Formations, 
etc.  A  book  of  military  memoirs  lay  open,  face  down- 
wards, in  a  deck-chair.  It  was  a  hot  July  day,  but  the 
fire  was  not  yet  out  in  the  grate.  On  the  mantelpiece 
were  some  small  ebony  curios  inlaid  with  mother-of- 
pearl.  Above  the  mantel  w^re  a  few  pipes,  spears,  and 
knobkerries,  a  warrior's  Colobus-monkey  head-dress 
and  shield,  from  Masailand,  a  chased  brass  bracket-dish 
(probably  made  in  England)  containing  cigarette-butts, 
and  a  small,  but  very  beautiful  Madonna  and  Child, 
evidently  by  Correggio.  It  was  dirty,  cracked,  and 
badly  hung,  but  it  was  still  a  noble  work.  Lionel,  com- 
ing in  abruptly,  found  Roger  staring  at  it. 

"  I  hope  you've  not  been  waiting,"  he  said.  "  I've 
been  to  see  my  monkey.  Are  you  fond  of  pictures? 
That's  said  to  be  a  rather  good  one.  It's  by  a  man 
called  Correggio.     Do  you  know  his  work  at  all  ?     It's 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  177 

rather  diugy.  Do  you  like  lemon  or  milk  in  your  tea  ? 
Lemon  ?  You  like  lemon,  do  you  ?  Riglit.  And  will 
you  wait  a  minute  while  I  give  myself  a  last  dose  ?  " 

"  Can  I  help  you  ?  "  Eoger  asked.  "  It's  hypoder- 
mic, isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Would  you  mind  ?  You  shove  the  snout  of  the 
thing  into  my  arm,  and  push  the  spirit.  It  won't  take  a 
minute."  He  shewed  Eoger  into  a  Spartan  bedroom, 
furnished  with  a  camp-bed  and  a  Sandow's  exerciser. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  producing  a  bottle  and  a  syringe, 
"  first  I'll  roll  up  my  sleeve,  and  then  I'll  shew  you  how 
to  sterilise  the  needle.  I  suppose  you've  never  done 
this  kind  of  thing  before?  Now,  jab  it  in  just  here 
where  all  the  punctures  are." 

"  You  said  it  was  your  last  dose,"  said  Roger. 
"  Does  that  mean  that  you  are  cured  ?  " 

"  Cured  for  the  time.  I  may  get  a  relapse.  Still, 
that  isn't  likely." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  you  are  cured  ?  Do  you 
feel  better  ? " 

"  I  don't  get  insomnia,"  said  Lionel.  "  No.  They 
inject  bits  of  me  into  a  monkey,  and  then  wait  to  see  if 
the  monkey  develops  the  organism.  The  monkey's  very 
fit  indeed,  so  they  reckon  that  I'm  cured.  Thanks. 
That'll  do.  Now  I  hear  tea  coming.  Go  on  in,  will 
you?  I'll  be  out  in  a  minute.  I  must  get  out  my 
slides." 

After  tea  they  looked  at  relics,  to  wit,  tsetse-flies, 


1Y8  MULTITUDE  A:N'D  SOLITUDE 

butterflies,  biting  flies,  fragments  of  the  same,  sections 
of  them,  slides  of  trypanosomes,  slides  of  filaria,  slides 
of  Laverania.  "  I've  got  these  photographs,  too,"  said 
Lionel.  "  They  aren't  very  good ;  but  they  give  you 
an  idea  of  the  place.  This  lot  are  all  rather  dark.  I 
suppose  they  were  over-exposed.  They  shew  you  the 
sort  of  places  the  tsetse  likes.  The  hut  in  this  one  is  a 
native  hut.  I  lived  in  it  while  I  was  out  there  the  last 
time.     I  was  studying  the  tsetse's  ways." 

"  They're  always  near  water,  aren't  they  ?  "  Eoger 
asked. 

"  Yes,  generally  near  water.  They  keep  to  a  narrow 
strip  of  cover  by  the  side  of  a  lake  or  stream.  They 
don't  like  to  go  very  far  from  water  unless  they  are 
pursuing  a  victim.  In  fact,  you're  perfectly  safe  if  you 
avoid  fly-country.  If  you  go  into  fly-country,  of  course 
they  come  for  you.  They'll  hunt  you  for  some  way 
when  you  leave  it.  They  like  a  shady  water  with  a 
little  sandy  shady  beach  at  the  side.  They  like  sand  or 
loose  soil  better  than  mud.  Mud  breeds  sedge,  which 
they  don't  care  about.  They  like  a  sort  of  scrubby 
jungle.  One  or  two  trees  attract  them  especially. 
Here's  a  tree  where  about  a  dozen  natives  got  it  together 
merely  from  taking  their  siesta  there." 

"  Does  clearing  the  jungle  do  any  good  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.  It  clears  the  flies  out  of  that  particular 
spot.  But  it  scatters  them  abroad.  It  doesn't  destroy 
them.     It  doesn't  destroy  the  pupae,  which  are  buried 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  179 

under  the  roots  in  the  ground.  Burning  is  better,  per- 
haps. Burning  may  do  for  the  pupae,  but  then  it  doesn't 
affect  the  grown  flies." 

"  Tell  me,"  said  Roger,  "  is  blood  necessary  to  the 
tsetse  ? " 

"  I  wish  I  knew." 

"  I've  been  thinking  about  the  spread  of  the  disease. 
Is  it  caused  by  game,  by  slave-raiders,  or  by  ivory- 
hunters  ?     How  is  it  spread  ?  " 

"  "We  don't  know.  It  seems  to  have  followed  the 
opening  up  of  the  Congo  basin  to  trade.  The  game  are 
reservoirs,  of  course." 

"  Have  the  natives  any  cure  ?  " 

"  IN'one.  They  have  a  disinfectant  for  their  cattle. 
They  boil  up  some  bitter  bark  with  one  dead  tsetse  and 
make  the  cattle  drink  the  brew.  Then  they  fumigate 
the  cattle  with  bitter  smoke.  They  go  through  this 
business  when  they  are  about  to  trek  cattle  through  fly- 
country.  They  travel  at  night,  because  the  flies  don't 
bite  after  dark.  But  the  fumigation  business  is  really 
useless." 

"  The  tsetse  is  useless,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  All  flies  are  useless." 

"  I  like  the  ladybird  and  the  chalk-blue  butterfly." 

"  I  see  you're  a  sentimentalist.  You  might  keep 
those.  But  all  the  rest  I  would  wipe  out  utterly.  I 
wish  that  we  could  wipe  out  the  tsetse  as  easily  as  one 
can  wipe  out  the  germ-carrying  mosquitoes." 


180  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

"  Has  it  been  tried  ?  " 

"  iN'o.  Well.  It  may  have  been.  But  in  the  mos- 
quito there  is  a  well-marked  grub  stage,  and  in  the  tsetse 
there  isn't.  It  is  so  difficult  to  get  at  the  chrysalids 
satisfactorily." 

"  What  do  the  tsetses  live  upon  ?  Do  you  mind  all 
my  questions  ? " 

"  1^0.  Go  ahead.  But  it  must  be  rather  boring  to 
you.  They  live  on  anything  they  can  get,  like  the  com- 
missioners who  study  them." 

"  But  why  do  they  live  near  water  ?  " 

"  Oh,  that  ?  Some  think  that  they  suck  the  croco- 
diles; but  the  general  opinion  is  that  they  go  for  air- 
breathing,  fresh-water  fish.  The  theory  is  this.  In  the 
dry  season  the  fish  have  very  little  water.  The  rivers 
dry  up,  or  very  nearly  dry  up.  I'm  not  talking  of 
rivers  like  the  Zambesi  and  the  Congo,  of  course.  Well. 
They  dry  up,  leaving  water-courses  of  shallow  pools 
joined  together  by  trickles.  The  fish  are  perfectly 
horrible  creatures.  They  burrow  into  the  mud  of  the 
shallows,  and  stay  there  till  the  rains.  I  suppose  they 
keep  their  snouts  out  of  the  mud,  in  order  to  breathe. 
It  is  thought  that  the  tsetses  feed  upon  their  snouts. 
It  may  not  be  true.  Jolly  interesting  if  it  is,  don't  you 
think  ?  Look  here,  excuse  me  if  I  smoke.  Tell  me. 
What  is  it  which  interests  you  so  much  in  sleeping  sick- 
ness ?     It  seems  so  queer  that  you  should  be  interested." 

"  I  met  with  accounts  of  it  not  long  ago,  at  a  time 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  181 

when  various  causes  had  made  me  very  sensitive  to  im- 
pressions. I  don't  know  whether  you  ever  feel  that 
what  is  happening  to  you  is  part  of  a  great  game 
divinely  ordained  ?  " 

Lionel  shook  his  head.  His  look  became  a  shade 
more  medical. 

"Well.  It  sounds  foolish,"  said  Roger.  "But  I 
was  impressed  by  the  way  in  which  sleeping  sickness 
was  brought  to  my  notice  again  and  again.  So  I 
studied  it,  as  well  as  one  so  igiiorant  of  science  could. 
I  am  interested  now,  because  you've  been  there  and  seen 
it  all.  It  is  always  very  interesting  to  hear  another 
man's  life-experience.  But  it  is  more  than  that.  The 
disease  must  be  one  of  the  most  frightful  things  of 
modern  times.  I  think  it  splendid  of  you  to  have  gone 
out,  as  you  have,  to  stud}'  it  for  the  good  of  mankind.'^ 

"  That  was  only  self-indulgence,"  said  Lionel.  "  It's 
queer  that  you  should  be  interested.  You're  the  only 
person  I've  met  yet  since  I  came  back  who  is  really  in- 
terested. Of  course,  the  doctors  have  been  interested. 
But  I  believe  that  most  Londoners  have  lost  the  faculty 
for  serious  mental  interest.  It  has  been  etiolated  out 
of  them.  They  like  your  kind  of  thing,  '  sugar  and 
spice  and  all  things  nice.'  They  like  catchwords. 
They  don't  study  hard  nor  get  at  the  roots  of  things. 
I  met  a  Spaniard  the  other  day,  Centeno,  a  chemist,  I 
don't  mean  a  druggist.  He  said  that  we  had  begun  to 
wither  at  the  top." 


182  MULTITUDE  A:N'D  SOLITUDE 

"  I  don't  agree,"  said  Roger.  "  Spain  is  too  withered 
to  judge.  Our  head  is  as  sound  oak  as  it  always  was. 
Were  you  ever  a  soldier,  Heseltine  ?  " 

"  Yes,  in  a  sort  of  a  way.     I  was  in  the  militia." 

"  Did  you  want  to  be  a  soldier  ?  Why  did  you  leave 
it?" 

"  It  isn't  a  life,  unless  you're  on  a  General  Staff. 
Everybody  ought  to  be  able  to  be  a  soldier;  I  believe 
that;  but  it  doesn't  seem  to  me  to  go  very  far  as  a 
life's  pursuit.  One  can  only  become  a  good  soldier  by 
passing  all  one's  days  in  fighting.  That  doesn't  lead  to 
anything.  I  would  like  best  of  all  to  be  a  writer,  only, 
of  course,  I  can't  be.  I  haven't  got  the  brains.  I  sup- 
pose you'll  say  they're  not  essential." 

"  They  are  essential,  and  you've  probably  got  as  many 
as  any  writer ;  but  writing  is  an  art,  and  success  in  art 
depends  on  all  sorts  of  subtle,  instantaneous  relations 
between  the  brain's  various  faculties  and  the  hand. 
Are  you  really  serious,  though  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I'd  give  the  world  to  be  able  to  write.  To 
write  poetry.  Or  I'd  like  to  be  able  to  write  a  play. 
You  see,  what  I  believe  is,  that  this  generation  is  full  of 
all  sorts  of  energy  which  ought  not  to  be  applied  to  dy- 
ing things.  I  would  like  to  write  a  poem  on  the  right 
application  of  energy.  That  is  the  important  thing 
nowadays.  The  English  have  lots  of  energy,  and  so 
much  of  it  is  wasted.  The  energy  wasted  is  just  so 
much  setting  back  the  clock.     The  energy  wasted  at 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  183 

schools  alone If  I'd  not  been  a  juggins  at  school, 

I'd  have  been  fully  qualified  by  this  time,  and  been 
able  to  get  a  lot  more  fun  out  of  things,  finding  out  what 
goes  on.  Don't  you  find  writing  awfully  interest- 
ing ?  " 

"  I  find  it  makes  the  world  more  interesting.  "Writ- 
ing lets  one  into  life.  But  when  I  meet  a  man  like 
yourself  I  realise  that  it  isn't  a  perfect  life  for  a  man. 
It  isn't  active  enough.  It  doesn't  seem  to  me  to  ex- 
ercise enough  of  the  essential  nature.  Have  you  ever 
tried  to  write?  I  expect  you  have  written  a  lot  of 
splendid  things.  Will  you  shew  me  what  you  have 
written  ?  " 

"  Oh,"  said  Lionel,  "  I've  only  written  a  few  sonnets 
and  things.  Out  there  alone  at  night  when  the  lions 
are  roaring,  you  can't  help  it.  They  used  to  roar  all 
round  me.  I  was  only  in  a  native  hut.  It  gives  one  a 
solemn  feeling.  I  used  to  make  up  verses  every 
night." 

'  ■  Have  you  got  any  ?  Won't  you  read  them  to 
me?" 

"  You  can  look  at  them  if  you  like,"  said  Lionel, 
blushing  under  his  tan.  Like  most  Englishmen,  he  was 
a  little  ashamed  of  having  any  intelligence  at  all.  He 
pulled  out  a  little  penny  account-book  from  the  drawer 
under  the  bookshelf.  "  They're  pretty  bad,  I  ex- 
pect." 

Eoger  looked  at  them. 


184  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

"  They're  not  bad  at  all,"  lie  said.  "  You've  got 
something  to  say.  You  haven't  got  much  ear;  but 
that's  only  a  matter  of  training.  People  can  always 
write  well  if  they  are  moved  or  interested.  Great  writ- 
ing happens  when  a  carefully  trained  technician  under- 
goes a  deep  emotion,  or,  still  better,  has  survived  one. 
Have  you  written  prose  at  all  ?  " 

"  No.  Prose  is  much  more  difficult.  I  never  know 
when  to  stop." 

"  Nor  do  I.  Prose  becomes  hard  directly  one  begins 
to  make  it  an  art  instead  of  a  second  nature." 

He  wanted  to  talk  with  Lionel  about  Portobe.  He 
was  in  that  mood  in  which  the  wound  of  a  grief  aches 
to  be  stricken.  He  wanted  to  know  what  Lionel  had 
said  to  Ottalie,  and  what  she  had  said  to  him.  He  had 
that  feeling  which  sometimes  comes  to  one  in  London. 
"  Here  you  are,  in  London,  before  me.  And  you  have 
been  in  such  a  place  and  such  a  place,  where  I  myself 
have  been,  and  you  have  talked  with  people  kno\\ai  to 
me.  How  wonderful  life  is !  "  To  his  delight,  Lionel 
began  to  talk  about  Ireland  unprompted. 

"  I  wish  I  could  write  prose  like  yours,"  he  said. 
"  It  was  your  prose  first  made  me  want  to  write.  I  was 
stopping  with  the  Fawcetts  at  Portobe.  It  was  the 
year  before  Leslie  married,  just  before  I  went  to  India, 
to  do  Delhi-sore.  Ottalie  had  just  got  that  book  you 
wrote  about  the  Dall.  You'd  sent  it  to  her.  That  was 
a  fine  book.     I  liked  your  little  word-pictures." 


MULTITUDE  A:N'D  SOLITUDE  185 

"  I  am  sorry  you  liked  that  book.  It  is  very  crude. 
I  remember  Ottalie  was  do\vii  ou  me  for  it." 

"  Ottalie  was  a  fine  person,"  said  Lionel.  "  She  had 
such  a  delicate,  quick  mind.  And  then.  I  don't  know. 
One  can't  describe  a  woman.  A  man  does  things  and 
defines  himself  by  doing  them,  but  a  woman  just  is. 
Ottalie  just  was;  but  I  don't  know  what  she  was.  I 
think  she  was  about  the  finest  thing  I've  ever  seen." 

"  Yes,"  said  Eoger,  moistening  dry  lips.  "  She  was 
like  light." 

"  What  I  noticed  most  about  her,"  said  Lionel,  tak- 
ing on  now  the  tone  of  a  colonial  who  has  lived  much 
away  from  the  society  of  women,  "  was  her  fineness. 
She  did  things  in  a  way  no  other  woman  could.  When 
I  came  back  from  the  East,  and  went  to  see  her  —  of 
course  I  used  to  go  to  Portobe  fairly  often  when  Leslie 
was  there  —  it  was  like  being  with  some  one  from  an- 
other world.  She  was  so  full  of  fun,  too.  She  had  a 
way  of  doing  things  simply.  I'm  not  good  at  describ- 
ing ;  but  you  know  how  some  writers  write  a  thing  easily 
because  they  know  it  to  the  heart.  Ottalie  Fawcett 
seemed  to  do  things  simply,  because  she  understood 
them  to  the  heart,  by  intuition." 

"  Yes,"  said  Eoger.  "  I  shall  always  be  proud  to 
have  lived  among  a  race  which  could  bear  such  a  per- 
son." 

"  She  must  be  a  dreadful  loss,"  said  Lionel,  "  to  any- 
body who  knew  her  well.     I'm  afraid  vou  knew  her 


186  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

well.  I  used  to  think  of  her  when  I  was  in  Africa. 
She  was  wonderful." 

^'  She  was  a  wonderful  spirit,"  Roger  answered. 
"  Tell  me.  I  seem  to  know  you  very  well,  although  I 
have  hardly  met  you.  I  don't  even  know  if  your  peo- 
ple are  alive.     Is  your  mother  living  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Lionel.  "  You're  thinking  of  my  old 
aunt  who  was  at  the  At  Home  with  me.  I  was  stop- 
ping with  her  for  a  few  days,  before  she  left  town. 
My  people  are  dead." 

"  Are  you  thinking  of  going  out  again  to  Africa  to 
examine  sleeping  sickness  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Lionel.  "  I  want  to  go  soon.  I  want 
to  go  in  the  rains,  so  that  I  can  test  a  native  statement, 
that  the  rains  aggravate  the  disease  and  tend  to  bring 
it  out  where  it  is  latent.  I  believe  it  is  all  nonsense. 
Natives  observe,  but  never  deduce.  Still,  one  ought  to 
know." 

".Would  you  go  alone  ?  " 

"  I  should  go  out  alone,  I  suppose.  There  are  lots 
of  men  who  would  come  with  me  to  shoot  lions,  but  try- 
panosomes  are  less  popular.  You  don't  bring  back 
many  trophies  from  trypanosomes,  except  a  hanging 
jaw  and  injected  eyes." 

"  Are  the  rains  very  unhealthy  ?  " 

"  Yes.  If  they  bring  out  the  latent  disease,  they  do 
SO  by  lowering  the  constitution.     But  I  don't  believe 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  187 

that  they  do  anything  of  the  kind.  Still,  the  natives 
say  that  they  can  bring  out  nagana  in  a  bitten  cow  by 
pouring  a  bucket  of  water  over  her." 

"  Look  here,"  Said  Eoger,  "  I  don't  want  you  to  de- 
cide definitely  till  you  know  me  better.  I  know  how 
risky  a  thing  it  is  to  choose  a  companion  for  a  journey 
into  the  wilderness,  or  for  any  undertaking  of  this  kind. 
But  I  am  dissatisfied  with  my  work.  I  can't  tell  you 
more.  I  don't  think  that  my  work  is  using  enough  of 
me,  or  letting  me  grow  up  evenly.  Besides,  for  other 
reasons,  I  want  to  give  up  writing.  I  am  deeply  inter- 
ested in  your  work,  and  I  should  like  to  join  you,  if 
you  would  let  me,  after  you  know  me  better.  I  have  a 
theory  which  I  should  like  to  work  out." 

"  It  would  be  very  nice,"  said  Lionel.  "  I  mean  it 
would  be  very  nice  for  me.  But  it  means  pretty  severe 
work,  remember.  And  then,  how  about  scientific  train- 
ing ?  I'm  not  properly  qualified  myself ;  but  I've  been 
at  this  game  for  seven  years,  and  I  had  a  hard  year's 
training  under  my  old  chief.  Sir  Patrick  Hamlin.  I 
began  by  doing  Eirst  Aid  and  Bearer-Party  in  camp. 
Then,  when  I  gave  up  soldiering,  I  got  a  job  on  famine 
relief  in  India.  Then  old  Hamlin  took  me  under  his 
wing,  and  got  me  to  help  with  the  plague  at  Bombay, 
and  so  I  went  on,  learning  whatever  I  could.  I  was 
very  lucky.  I  mean,  I  was  able  to  learn  a  good  deal, 
being  always  with  Hamlin.     You  ought  to  know  Ham- 


188  MULTITUDE  AI^D  SOLITUDE 

lin.  He's  a  very  remarkable  man.  He  stamped  out 
Travancore  ophthalmia.  He  made  me  very  keen  and 
taught  me  all  that  I  know.  I^ot  that  that's  much. 
'Now  you  are  rather  a  griff,  if  you'll  excuse  my  saying 
so.  I  wonder  how  soon  you  could  make  yourself  use- 
ful?" 

"  Well,  what  is  wanted  ?  "  said  Eoger.  "  Surely  not 
much  ?  What  can  you  do  with  the  disease  ?  You  can 
only  inject  atoxyl  into  a  man,  and  pump  trypanosomes 
out  of  him?  I  can  learn  how  to  mount  and  stain  ob- 
jects for  the  microscope.  I  have  kept  meteorological 
records.  I  could  surely  keep  records  of  temperatures. 
I  have  no  experience  and  no  scientific  knowledge;  but 
I  am  not  sure  that  my  particular  theory  will  need  much 
more  than  prolonged,  steady  observation.  Probably  all 
the  attainable  scientific  facts  about  the  structures  of  the 
different  varieties  of  tsetse  are  known,  but  the  habits 
of  the  flies  are  very  little  known.  I  was  thinking  that 
a  minute  observation  of  the  flies  would  be  useful.  It  is 
a  kind  of  work  which  a  trained  scientist  might  find  dull. 
"Now,  who  has  really  observed  the  tsetse's  habits?  It 
is  not  even  known  what  their  food  is.  And  another 
thing.  What  is  it  which  keeps  them  near  the  water, 
even  when  (for  all  that  we  know)  the  air-breathing  fish 
are  no  longer  burrowed  in  the  mud  ?  And  why  should 
they  be  so  fond  of  certain  kinds  of  jungle  ?  And  why 
should  there  not  be  some  means  of  exterminating  them  ? 
I  could  experiment  in  many  ways." 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  189 

"  Yes.  That  is  true.  You  could,"  said  Lionel, 
puckering  his  face.  "How  do  you  stand  heat? 
You're  slight.  You  can  probably  stand  more  than  a 
big  beefy  fellow." 

"  I  did  not  find  Belize  very  trying." 

"  Then  it's  an  expensive  business,"  said  Lionel. 
"  When  I  go  out  I  shan't  be  attached  to  any  commission. 
One  has  to  go  into  all  these  sordid  details  pretty  closely. 
Of  course,  you  won't  mind  my  giving  you  one  or  two 
tips.  Here's  my  account  book  for  a  quite  short  trip 
to  Ikupu.  You  will  see  that  it  is  very  costly  and  very 
wasteful." 

Eoger  looked  at  the  account-book.  The  cost  of  the 
Ikupu  trip  was  certainly  heavy.  The  relatives  of  two 
bearers  who  had  been  eaten  by  lions  had  received  com- 
pensation. The  widow  of  the  dead  assistant  had  re- 
ceived compensation.  A  month's  stores  had  been 
thrown  away  by  deserting  bearers.  The  dirty,  dog's- 
eared  pages  gave  him  a  sense  of  the  wasteful,  deathy, 
confused  life  which  goes  on  in  new  countries  before 
wasteful,  cruel,  confused  nature  has  the  ideas  of  her 
"  rebellious  son  "  imposed  upon  her.  "  We  went  out 
seventy  strong,"  said  Lionel,  "  to  go  to  Ikupu.  We  had 
bad  luck  from  the  very  start.  Only  twelve  of  us  ever 
got  there.  You  see,  my  assistant,  Marteilhe,  was 
frightfully  ill.  I  had  fever  on  and  off  the  whole  time. 
So  the  bearers  did  what  they  liked.  It's  a  heart-break- 
ing country  to  travel  in.     It's  like  Texas.     '  A  good 


190  MULTITUDE  A:N'D  SOLITUDE^ 

land  for  men  and  dogs,  but  liell  for  women  and  oxen.' 
Wliat  do  you  think?  Does  it  seem  to  you  to  be  worth 
the  waste  ?  " 

"Very  well  worth,"  said  Roger,  handing  back  the 
book.  "  If  I  fail  to  do  one  little  speck  of  good  there, 
it  will  have  been  very  well  worth,  both  for  my  own 
character  and  for  my  own  time." 

"  I  don't  quite  see  your  point,"  said  Lionel. 

"  Well,"  said  Roger,  moved.  "  I  want  to  be  quite 
sure  of  certain  elements  in  myself,  before  I  settle  down 
to  a  literary  life.  That  life,  if  it  be  in  the  least  worthy, 
is  consecrated  to  the  creation  of  the  age's  moral  con- 
sciousness. In  the  old  time  a  writer  was  proved  by  the 
world  before  he  could  begin  to  create  his  "  ideas  of  good 
and  evil."  Homer  never  existed,  of  course,  but  the  old 
idea  of  a  poet's  being  blind  is  very  significant.  Poets 
must  have  been  men  of  action,  like  the  other  men  of 
their  race.  They  only  became  poets  when  they  lost 
their  sight,  or  ceased,  through  some  wound  or  sickness, 
to  be  efficient  in  the  musters,  when,  in  fact,  their  lives 
were  turned  inwards.  ^Nowadays  that  is  changed, 
Heseltine.  A  man  writes  because  he  has  read,  or  be- 
cause he  is  idle,  or  greedy,  or  vicious,  or  vain,  for  a 
dozen  different  reasons;  but  very  seldom  because  his 
whole  life  has  been  turned  inward  by  the  discipline  of 
action,  thought,  or  suffering.  I  am  not  sure  of  my- 
self. Miss  Eawcett's  death  has  brought  a  lot  into  my 
life  which  I  never  suspected.     I  begin  to  think  that  a 


t 

MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  191 

writer  without  character,  without  high  and  austere 
character,  in  himself,  and  in  the  written  image  of  him- 
self, is  a  panderer,  a  bawd,  a  seller  of  Christ."  He 
rose  from  his  chair.  He  paced  the  room  once  or  twice. 
"  Jacob  Boehme  was  right,"  he  went  on.  "  We  are 
watery  people.  Without  action  we  are  stagnant.  If 
you  sit  down  to  write,  day  after  day,  for  months  on 
end,  you  can  feel  the  scum  growing  on  your  mind." 
He  sat  down  again,  staring  at  the  Correggio. 
"  There,"  he  said,  "  that  is  all  it  is.  I  sometimes  feel 
that  all  the  thoroughly  good  artists,  like  Diirer,  Shake- 
speare, Michael  Angelo,  Dante,  all  of  them,  sit  in  judg- 
ment on  the  lesser  artists  when  they  die.  I  think  they 
forgive  bad  art,  because  they  know  how  jolly  difficult 
art  of  any  kind  is.  I  don't  believe  that  art  was  ever 
easy  to  anybody,  except  perhaps  to  women,  whose  whole 
lives  are  art.  But  they  would  never  forgive  faults  of 
character  or  of  life.  They  would  exact  a  high  strain 
of  conduct,  mercilessly.  Good  God,  Heseltine,  it  seems 
to  me  terrible  that  a  man  should  be  permitted  to  write 
a  play  before  he  has  risked  his  life  for  another,  or  for 
the  State." 

"  Well,"  said  Lionel,  picking  up  his  cigarette,  which 
had  fallen  to  the  floor,  scattering  sparks.  "  Yes."  He 
pressed  his  forefinger  reflectively  on  each  crumb  of  fire 
one  after  the  other.  "  Yes.  But  look  here.  I  met 
that  Erench  poet  fellow,  Mongeron,  the  other  day,  the 
day  before  yesterday.     He  said  that  action  was  unnec- 


192  MULTITUDE  Al^D  SOLITUDE 

essary  to  the  man  of  thought,  since  the  imagination  en- 
abled him  to  possess  all  experience  imaginatively." 

"  Yes.  I  know  that  pleasant  theory.  I  agree,"  said 
Roger.  "  But  only  when  action  has  formed  the  char- 
acter. I  take  writing  very  seriously,  but  I  want  to  be 
sure  that  it  is  the  thing  which  will  bring  out  the  best  in 
me.  I  am  doubtful  of  that.  I  am  doubtful  even 
whether  art  of  any  kind  is  not  an  anachronism  in  this 
scientific  century,  when  so  much  is  being  learned  and 
applied  to  the  bettering  of  life.  As  I  said  the  other 
night,  my  State  is  the  human  mind.  If  this  art,  about 
which  I  have  spilled  such  a  lot  of  ink,  be  really  a  sur- 
vival, what  you  call  in  dissecting-rooms  '  a  fossil,'  then 
I  am  not  helping  my  State,  but  hindering  her,  by  giv- 
ing all  my  brains'  vitality  to  an  obsolete  cause.  One 
feels  very  clever,  with  these  wise  books  in  one's  head; 
but  they  don't  go  down  to  bed-rock.  They  don't  mean 
much  in  the  great  things  of  life.  They  don't  help  one 
over  a  death." 

"  iNo,"  said  Lionel  reflectively.  "  I  think  I  see  all 
your  points."  He  made  the  subject  practical  at  once, 
feeling  a  little  beyond  his  depth  in  ethics.  "  It  would 
be  a  very  interesting  experience  for  you  to  go  out,"  he 
said.  "  A  fine  thing,  too ;  for  it  is  very  difficult  to  get 
a  good  brain  to  take  up  a  subject  in  that  particular  way. 
Still,  one  ought  not  to  waste  a  good  brain  like  yours  in 
watching  tsetses." 

"  1^0    imaginative    work    is    wasted,"    said    Roger. 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  193 

"  The  experience  would  add  a  great  deal  to  me.  I 
should  feel  more  sure  of  being  able  to  face  the  judge 
after  death." 

"  How  about  the  practice  of  your  art  ?  " 

"  That  will  not  be  hurt  by  the  deepening  of  my  in- 
terests." 

"  Come  on  out  to  dinner,"  said  Lionel.  "  I  generally 
go  to  Simpson's.  "We'll  go  into  Committee  of  Supply. 
The  first  thing  we  shall  have  to  do  is  to  try  to  get  you 
the  job  of  bottle-washer  to  somebody's  clinic.  What  I 
want  to  do  when  I  get  out  there  is  this,  iN'aldrett.  I 
want  to  get  right  away  into  the  back  of  beyond,  into  the 
C.  F.  S.,  or  wherever  there  is  not  much  chance  of  the 
natives  having  mixed  with  Europeans.  I  want  to  find 
out  if  there  is  any  native  cure,  if  any  native  tribes  are 
immune,  as  they  are  to  malaria,  and  whether  their  cat- 
tle, if  they  have  any,  are  immune,  like  the  game.  You 
will  guess  that  what  I  want  to  do  is  to  prepare  anti- 
toxins strong  enough  to  resist  the  disease  at  any  stage, 
and  also  to  act  as  preventives.  That's  the  problem  as 
it  seems  to  me.     It  may  sound  a  little  crazy." 

"  Is  the  tsetse  immune  ?  "  said  Roger.  "  Does  any- 
body know  anything  about  flies  ?  If  the  tsetse  is  im- 
mune, why  could  not  an  anti-toxin  be  prepared  from  the 
tsetse?  It  would  be  more  than  science.  It  would  be 
equity." 

They  walked  along  the  Strand  together. 

"Anti-toxins  must  wait/'  said  Roger,  as  they  stopped 


194  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

before  crossing  "Wellington  Street.  "  The  first  thing  we 
had  better  do  is  to  go  for  a  long  tramp  together,  to  see 
how  we  get  along." 

"  We  might  charter  a  boat,  and  try  to  get  round  the 
north  of  Ireland,"  said  Lionel.  "  Dublin  to  Moville. 
It  would  be  a  thorough  eye-opener.  Then  we  might 
walk  on  round  the  coast  to  Killybegs.  Old  Hamlin  will 
be  back  by  the  end  of  August.  He  would  prescribe 
you  a  course  of  study.  "We  might  do  some  reading  to- 
gether." 

In  the  Strand,  outside  Simpson's,  a  procession  of 
dirty  boys  followed  a  dirty  drunkard  who  was  being 
taken  to  Bow  Street  by  two  policemen.  Newsboys, 
with  debased,  predatory  faces,  peered  with  ophthalmic 
eyes  into  betting  news.  Other  s_)Ti-ptoms  of  disease 
passed. 

"  Plenty  of  disease  here,"  said  Roger. 

"  All  preventable,"  said  Lionel.  "  Only  we're  not 
allowed  to  prevent  it.  People  here  would  rather  have 
it  by  them  to  reform.  Science  won't  mix  with  senti- 
ment, thank  God !  "     They  entered  Simpson's. 


VIII 

And  here  will  I,  in  honour  of  thy  love, 
Ihvell  by  thy  grave,  forgetting  all  those  joys 
That  former  times  made  precious  to  mine  eyes. 

The  Faithful  Shepherdess. 

TEjST  months  later  Roger  sat  swathed  in  blankets 
under  mosquito  netting,  steering  a  boat  up- 
stream. He  was  in  the  cold  fit  of  a  fever. 
The  bows  of  the  boat  were  heaped  with  the  cages  of 
laboratory  animals  and  with  boxes,  on  the  top  of  which 
a  negro  sat,  singing  a  song.  The  singer  clapped 
gravely  with  his  hands  to  mark  the  time.  "  Marumba 
is  very  far  away,"  he  sang.  "  Yes.  It  is  far  away, 
and  nobody  ever  got  there."  At  times,  pausing  in  his 
song  to  lift  a  hand  to  Roger,  he  pointed  out  a  snag  or 
shoal.  At  other  times  the  rowers,  lifting  their  paddles 
wearily,  sang  for  a  few  bars  in  chorus,  about  the  bones 
on  the  road  to  Marumba.  Then  the  chorus  died;  the 
paddles  splashed ;  the  tholes  grunted.  The  boat  lagged 
on  into  the  unknovvn,  up  the  red,  savage  river,  which 
loitered,  and  steamed,  and  stank,  like  a  river  of  a  be- 
ginning earth. 

Lionel,  heaped  with  blankets,  lay  at  Roger's  feet. 

His  teeth  were  chattering.     The  wet  rag  round  his 

195 


196  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

forehead  had  slipped  over  his  eyes.  The  debile  motion 
of  the  hand  which  tried  to  thrust  the  rag  away,  so  that 
he  might  see,  told  of  an  intense  petulant  weakness. 
By  him  lay  a  negro,  wasted  to  a  skeleton,  who  watched 
Roger  with  a  childish  grave  intentness  out  of  eyes 
heavy  with  death. 

The  boat  ground  slowly  past  a  snag.  Eoger,  raising 
himself  upon  a  box,  looked  out  painfully  over  the  river 
bank  to  the  immense  distance  beyond,  where,  in  a  dim- 
ness, mists  hung.  To  the  right,  a  mile  or  two  from  the 
river,  was  forest,  sloping  to  an  expanse  of  water,  in- 
tensely blue.  Beyond  the  water  was  grass  sloping  up 
to  forest.  The  forest  jutted  out,  immense,  dark,  silent. 
Nothing  lay  beyond  it  but  forest,  trees  towering  up, 
trees  fallen,  uprooted,  rotting,  a  darkness,  a  green 
gloom.  Over  it  was  the  sky,  of  hard,  bright  blue  metal, 
covered  with  blazing  films.  Outside  it,  like  captains 
halted  at  the  head  of  a  horde,  were  solitary,  immense 
trees,  with  ruddy  boles.  To  each  side  of  them,  the 
forest  stretched,  an  irregular  wilderness  of  wood,  grey, 
rather  than  green,  in  the  glare  aloft;  below,  darker. 
The  water  at  the  foot  of  the  slope  opened  out  in  bays, 
ruffled  by  the  wind,  shimmering.  Reeds  grew  about  the 
bays.  A  cluster  of  tall,  orange-blossomed  water-plants 
hid  the  rest  from  Roger's  sight  as  the  boat  loitered  on. 

To  the  left  it  was  a  sometimes  swampy  plain-land, 
reaching  on  into  the  mists,  with  ants'  nests  for  mile- 
^tpnes.     Little  gentle  bills  rose  up,  some  of  them  dotted 


MULTITUDE  AXD  SOLITUDE  197 

with  thorn-trees.  They  were  like  the  stumps  of  isUmds 
worn  away  by  the  river,  when,  long  ago,  it  had  brimmed 
that  plain-land  from  the  forest  to  the  far  horizon. 

Ear  ahead,  to  the  left  of  the  river,  Eoger  noticed  a 
slightly  larger  hill.  It  held  his  gaze  for  a  few  minutes. 
It  stood  up  from  the  plain  exactly  like  a  Roman  camp 
which  he  had  visited  in  England  long  before,  one  Christ- 
mas Day.  He  liked  to  look  at  it.  There  was  comfort 
in  looking  at  it.  It  was  like  a  word  from  Europe,  that 
hill  beyond  there,  greyish  in  the  blinding  light.  It  was 
like  a  Roman  camp,  like  military  virtue,  order,  calm, 
courage,  dignity.  He  needed  some  such  message.  He 
was  in  command  of  a  shipload  of  suffering.  He  was 
wandering  on  into  the  unknown,  in  charge  of  dying 
men.  Smoke  was  rising  from  below  the  hill,  a  single 
spire  of  smoke.     He  hailed  the  singer. 

"  Merrylegs,"  he  cried,  "  what  is  the  smoke  there  ?  " 

"  Jualapa,"  said  the  man,  standing  up  to  look. 
"  Jualapa." 

"  It  can't  be  Jualapa,"  said  Lionel  petulantly,  strug- 
gling to  lift  his  blankets.  "  Oh,  stop  that  noise,  Roger. 
It  shakes  my  head  to  pieces." 

"  Jualapa,"  cried  the  rowers  excitedly.  "  Jualapa." 
They  dropped  their  paddles.  Standing  on  the  thwarts 
they  peered  under  the  sharps  of  their  hands  at  the 
rising  smoke.  They  rubbed  their  bellies,  thinking  of 
meat.  One  of  them,  beating  his  hands  together,  broke 
into  a  song  about  Jualapa. 


198  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

Eoger,  stumbling  forward,  shaken  by  sickness,  bade 
them  to  give  way,  quietly.  The  jabbering  died  down 
as  the  tholes  began  again  to  grunt.  Merrylegs,  still 
clapping  his  hands,  broke  into  another  song. 

Jualapa  is  near.     Yes,  Jualapa  is  near.     Not  like  Marumba. 
We  will  eat  meat  in  Jualapa.     Much  meat.     Much  meat. 
The  men  of  Little  Belly  will  eat  meat  in  Jualapa. 

"  Shut  your  silly  head,  Merrylegs,"  cried  Roger 
angrily.  The  song  broke  off.  Merrylegs  began  to  tell 
the  bow-oar  what  meat  there  would  be  in  Jualapa.  He 
said  that  there  would  be  cattle,  and  perhaps  a  diseased 
cow  among  them.  The  rowing  seemed  to  freshen  a 
little.     The  boat  dragged  on  a  little  quicker. 

"  How  are  you,  Lionel  ? "  Roger  asked.  It  was  a 
foolish  question. 

"  Oh,  for  God's  sake  don't  ask  silly  questions,"  said 
Lionel  very  weakly.     "  Do  leave  me  alone." 

Eor  answer,  Roger  gently  renewed  the  compress 
round  the  sick  man's  head.  Erom  the  thirst  which  was 
torturing  him  he  guessed  that  his  fever's  hot  fit  would 
soon  begin.  He  prayed  that  it  might  keep  off  until 
they  had  reached  the  smoke.  They  were  probably  near- 
ing  some  village.  They  might  camp  at  the  village. 
Only  he  would  have  to  be  well  when  they  reached  the 
village.  He  would  have  to  get  Lionel  ashore,  into 
some  comfortable  hut.  He  would  have  to  feed  him 
there  with  some  strong  comforting  broth.     Before  he 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  199 

could  do  that,  lie  would  have  to  see  the  village  headman. 
He  would  have  to  look  after  the  bearers.  The  boat 
would  have  to  be  moored.  Some  of  her  gear  would 
have  to  be  unloaded. 

There  could  be  no  thought  of  going  on,  upstream, 
to  Jualapa,  in  their  present  state.  A  native  had  told 
them,  the  day  before,  that  Jualapa,  three  days'  journey 
upstream,  was  stricken  with  sleeping  sickness.  "  All 
were  sleeping,"  he  said.  "  Men,  w^omen,  and  little  chil- 
dren. The  cattle  were  not  milked  at  Jualapa."  It  was 
the  first  time  that  they  had  heard  of  the  disease  since 
leaving  the  coast.  They  had  decided  to  attempt 
Jualapa. 

They  were  both  suffering  from  fever.  They  would 
have  been  glad  to  camp  for  a  few  days  before  pushing 
on;  but  Lionel  forbade  it.  The  rowers  were  getting 
homesick.  Three  of  them  had  contracted  dysentery. 
He  felt  that  if  they  called  a  halt  any^vhere  their  men 
would  desert  them.  The  important  thing  was  to  push 
on,  he  said,  to  carry  the  men  so  far  that  they  would 
be  afraid  to  run.  If  the  men  deserted  after  the  leaders 
had  engaged  the  disease,  well  and  good,  there  would 
be  the  work  to  do.  But  if  they  deserted  before  that, 
the  expedition  would  end  before  Roger  took  his  first 
Imnbar  puncture.  It  w^as  the  last  sensible  decision 
Lionel  had  been  able  to  make.  His  fever  had  recurred 
within  the  hour.     Since  then  he  had  been  dangerously 


200  MULTITUDE  AKD  SOLITUDE 

ill,  so  ill,  and  with  such  violent  changes  of  temperature, 
that  his  weakness,  now  that  the  fever  lifted,  frightened 
Roger. 

Roger  shook  and  chattered,  trying  to  think.  He  was 
ill ;  so  ill  that  he  could  not  think  clearly.  The  horrible 
part  of  it,  to  him,  was  to  be  just  clear  enough  in  his 
head  to  fear  to  change  Lionel's  decision.  He  wanted  to 
change  for  Lionel's  sake ;  but  with  this  fever  smoulder- 
ing in  his  brain,  surging  and  lifting,  like  a  hot  blast 
withering  him,  the  plan  seemed  august,  like  a  law  of 
the  Medes  and  Persians.  He  was  afraid  of  changing. 
At  last,  in  a  momentary  clearing  of  the  head,  he  made 
up  his  mind  to  change.  He  would  anchor.  They 
would  halt  at  the  smoke.  They  would  land  and  camp. 
E'othing  could  be  done  till  the  leaders  were  cured.  If 
the  men  deserted,  he  would  trust  to  luck  to  be  able  to 
hire  new  men.  He  could  not  go  on  like  this;  Lionel 
might  die.  The  fever  closed  in  upon  his  mind  again, 
surging  and  withering.  The  air  seemed  strangely 
thick.  Merrylegs  wavered  and  blurred.  The  boat 
grounded  on  a  mud-bank,  and  brushed  past  some  many- 
shimmering  reeds  with  a  long  swish.  The  dying  negro, 
stirred  by  some  memory,  which  the  noise  had  awakened 
in  him,  raised  himself  faintly,  asking  something.  He 
fell  back  faint,  closing  his  eyes,  then  opening  them. 
He  beat  with  one  hand,  jabbering  the  name  Mpaka. 
His  teeth  clenched.  He  was  in  the  death  agony.  One 
of  the  stroke-oars,  clambering  over  the  boxes  in  the 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  201 

stern-sheets,  beat  the  dying  man  upon  the  chest.  He 
was  beating  out  the  devil,  he  explained.  He  soon  grew 
tired.  He  shouted  in  the  sick  man's  ear,  laughed  de- 
lightedly at  his  groans,  and  went  forward  to  explain 
his  prowess.     He  broke  out  into  a  song  about  it. 

Kilemba  has  a  big  devil  in  his  belly. 
Big  devil  eat  up  Kilemba.     Eat  all  up. 

But  Muafi  a  strong  man.     Very  strong  man.     Devil  no  good. 
iS'ot  eat  Muafi. 

They  swept  round  a  bend,  where  crocodiles,  like  great 
worm-casts,  sunned  and  nuzzled,  with  mud  caking  off 
their  bellies.  The  boat  passed  into  a  broad,  above 
which,  the  hill  like  a  Roman  camp  rose  up.  Pink 
cranes  stood  in  the  shallows.  Slowly,  one  of  them  rose 
aloft,  heavily  flagging.  Another  rose,  then  another, 
then  another,  till  they  made  a  pinkish  ribbon  against 
the  forest.  Following  the  line  of  their  flight  Roger 
saw  a  few  delicate  deer  leave  their  pasture,  startled  by 
the  starting  of  the  cranes.  They  moved  off  daintily, 
looking  uneasily  behind  them.  Soon  they  broke  into 
a  run. 

On  the  left  bank,  in  a  space  of  poor  soil,  covered  with 
shingle  by  a  freshet,  some  vultures  cowered  and  sidled 
about  a  dead  thing.  Roger  stared  stupidly  at  them. 
Something  of  a  warning  of  death  moved  through  the 
surging  of  his  fever.  He  said  to  himself  that  there  was 
death  here.  Words  spoke  in  his  brain,  each  word  like 
a  fire-flash.     "  No  white  man  has  ever  been  here  before. 


202  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

You  are  the  first.  Take  care.  There  is  death  here." 
Some  vague  fear  of  possible  war,  so  vague  that  he  was 
not  quite  certain  that  it  was  not  a  memory  of  a  war- 
scare  at  home,  made  him  look  to  his  revolver.  He 
thrust  up  the  catch  with  his  thumb,  and  stared  at  the 
seven  dull  brass  discs  pulled  slightly  forward  by  the 
extractor.  There  were  seven,  and  we  are  seven,  and 
there  were  seven  planets.  The  fever  made  him  stare  at 
the  opened  breech  for  a  full  minute. 

Out  of  some  tall  water-plants,  whose  long,  bluish- 
grey  leaves  looked  very  cool  in  the  glare  of  heat,  came 
flies.  They  came  to  the  attack  with  a  whirling  fierce- 
ness like  clegs.  They  were  small,  brown,  insignificant 
flies.  They  were  tsetse  flies.  The  boat  pulled  out  into 
the  open  to  avoid  them.  After  a  few  more  minutes 
Roger  called  upon  the  rowers  to  stop  rowing. 

He  was  in  the  middle  of  the  broad,  looking  at  the  left 
bank,  where  a  trodden  path  led  to  the  water's  edge. 
For  many  centuries  men  and  beasts  had  watered  there. 
The  path  had  worn  a  deep  rut  into  the  bank.  What 
struck  Roger  about  it  was  its  narrowness.  It  was  the 
narrow  track  of  savages.  The  people  who  made  it  had 
used  it  fearfully,  one  at  a  time,  full  of  suspicion,  like 
drinking  deer.  Their  fear  had  had  a  kind  of  idealism 
about  it.  It  might  truly  be  said  of  those  nervous 
drinkers  that  when  they  drank,  they  drank  to  the  good 
health  of  their  State.  Even  in  his  fever,  the  sight  of 
the  path  shocked  Roger  with  a  sense  of  the  danger  of 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  203 

life  in  this  place.     Wliat  was  the  danger?     What  was 
the  life? 

Beyond  the  track,  at  a  little  distance  from  the  river, 
was  a  thick  thorn  hedge  surrounding  a  village.  From 
the  midst  of  the  village  a  single  stream  of  smoke  arose. 
It  went  up  straight  for  a  foot  or  two,  behind  the  shelter 
of  the  hedge.  Then  it  blew  down  gustily,  in  wavering 
puffs.  There  was  no  other  sign  of  life  in  the  village. 
A  few  hens  were  picking  food  in  the  open.  A  cow, 
standing  with  drooped  head  above  the  corpse  of  her 
calf,  awaited  death.  Her  bones  were  coming  through 
her  skin,  poor  beast.  There  were  black  patches  of  flies 
upon  her.  Three  vultures  waited  for  her.  One  of 
them  was  stretching  his  wings  with  the  air  of  a  man 
yawning.  Vultures  were  busy  about  a  dead  cow  in  the 
middle  distance.  Dark  heaps,  further  off,  had  still 
something  of  the  appearance  of  cows.  The  men,  look- 
ing earnestl}^  about  from  the  tops  of  the  boxes,  jabbered 
excitedly,  pointing.  Roger  unslung  his  binoculars  and 
stared  at  the  silent  place.  He  could  see  no  one.  There 
were  dead  cows,  a  dying  cow,  and  those  few  clucking 
hens.  He  wondered  if  there  could  be  an  ambush. 
The  grass  was  tall  enough,  in  the  clumps,  to  shelter  an 
enemy ;  but  the  wild  birds  passed  from  clump  to  clump 
without  fear.  In  a  bare  patch  two  scarlet-headed  birds 
were  even  fighting  together.  Their  neck  feathers  were 
ruffled  erect.  They  struck  and  tugged.  They  rose, 
flapping,  to  cuff  each  other  with  their  wings.     Leaping 


204  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

aloft  they  thrust  with  their  spurs.  A  hen,  less  bril- 
liantly coloured,  watched  the  battle.  But  for  these 
birds  the  place  was  peaceful.  The  wind  ruffled  the 
grass ;  the  smoke  w.as  gusty ;  one  of  the  poultry  crooned 
with  a  long  gurgling  cluck. 

Something  made  Eoger  look  from  the  village  to  the 
hill  like  a  Roman  camp.  It  glistened  grey  in  the  sun- 
blaze.  The  dance  of  the  air  above  it  was  queer,  almost 
like  smoke.  He  stared  at  it  through  his  glasses.  After 
a  long  look  he  turned  to  stare  into  the  water  to  rest  his 
eyes.  "  I  am  mad,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  I  am  dream- 
ing this.  Presently  I  shall  wake  up."  He  looked 
again.  There  could  be  no  doubt  of  it.  The  hill  was 
covered  with  a  grey  stone  wall  at  least  thirty  feet  high. 
There,  about  three-quarters  of  a  mile  away,  was  the  ruin 
of  an  ancient  town,  as  old,  perhaps,  as  the  Pharaohs. 
There  was  no  doubt  that  it  was  old.  Parts  of  it,  under- 
mined by  burrowing  things,  or  thrust  out  by  growing 
things,  were  fallen  in  heaps.  Other  parts  were  over- 
grown twelve  feet  thick,  with  vegetation.  Trees  gTew 
out  of  it.  A  few  cacti  upon  the  wall-top  were  sharply 
outlined  against  the  sky.  On  the  further  end  of  the 
wall  there  was  a  fire-coloured  blaze,  where  some  poison- 
ous weed,  having  stifled  down  all  weaker  life,  triumphed 
in  sprawling  yellow  blossoms,  spotted  and  smeared  with 
drowsy  juice.  There  were  dense  swarms  of  flies  above 
it  as  Roger  could  guess  from  the  movements  of  the  birds 
across  the  path.     He  watched  the  ruin.     There  was  no 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  205 

trace  of  human  occupation  there.  !N^o  smoke  shewed 
there.  Apparently  the  place  had  become  a  possession 
for  the  bittern.  Wild  beasts  of  the  forests  lay  there, 
owls  dwelt  there,  and  satyrs  danced  there.  It  was  as 
desolate  as  Babylon  at  the  end  of  Isaiah  xiii. 

He  looked  at  the  men  to  see  what  effect  the  ruin  had 
upon  them.  They  did  not  look  at  it.  They  had  the 
limited  primitive  intelligence,  which  cannot  see  beyond 
the  facts  of  physical  life.  They  were  looking  at  the 
village,  jabbering  as  they  looked. 

"  What  are  we  stopping  for  ?  "  said  Lionel. 

"  There's  a  village,"  said  Eoger.  "  It  seems  to  have 
cattle  plague."  Lionel  struggled  weakly  to  a  sitting 
position,  and  looked  out  with  vacant  eyes. 

"  There's  a  ruin  on  the  hill,  there,"  said  Eoger. 

"  Plague  and  ruin  are  the  products  of  this  land,"  said 
Lionel.  "  Don't  stand  there  doddering,  ^Naldrett. 
Find  out  what's  happening  here." 

"  Look  here,  you  rest,"  said  Eoger  with  an  effort. 
"  Just  lie  back  on  the  blankets  here,  and  rest." 

"  How  the  devil  am  I  to  rest  when  you  won't  keep 
the  gang  quiet  ?  " 

"  You  just  close  your  eyes,  Lionel,"  said  Eoger. 
"  Close  them.  Keep  them  closed,"  He  sluiced  a  rag 
in  the  shallow  water.  "  Here's  a  new  compress  for 
you." 

He  ordered  the  men  to  pull  in  to  the  watering-place, 
while  he  looked  about  in  what  he  called  the  toy  box 


206  MULTITUDE  A:N"D  SOLITUDE 

for  presents  for  the  village  chief.  He  took  some  copper 
wire,  a  few  brass  cartridge  shells,  some  green  beads, 
some  bars  of  brightly  coloured  sealing  wax,  a  doll  or 
two,  of  the  kind  which  say,  "  Mamma,"  when  stricken 
on  the  solar  plexus,  a  doll's  mirror,  a  knife,  an  empty 
green  bottle,  and  a  tin  trumpet.  He  tilted  a  white- 
lined  green  umbrella  over  Lionel's  head.  He  slipped 
over  the  side  as  the  boat  grounded.  Merrylegs  followed 
him,  carrying  the  presents.  They  slopped  through  shal- 
low water,  and  climbed  the  bank. 

Merrylegs,  clapping  his  hands  loudly,  called  to  the 
villagers  in  the  Mwiri  dialect  that  a  king,  a  white  man, 
a  most  glorious  person,  was  advancing  to  them.  Roger 
asked  him  if  he  had  heard  of  this  village  at  their  stop- 
ping-place the  day  before.  'No,  he  said,  he  had  never 
heard  of  this  village.  It  was  a  poor  place,  very  far 
away;  he  had  never  heard  of  it.  He  called  again,  bat- 
ting with  his  hands.  No  answer  came.  Roger,  look- 
ing anxiously  about,  saw  no  sign  of  life.  No  sign 
shewed  on  the  city  wall.  A  new  vulture,  lighting  by 
the  dying  cow,  eyed  him  gravely,  without  enthusiasm. 
One  of  those  already  there  flapped  his  wings  again  as 
though  yawning.  "  Merrylegs,"  said  Roger,  "  we  must 
go  into  the  village."  He  shifted  round  his  revolver 
holster,  so  that  the  weapon  lay  to  hand.  They  skirted 
the  zareba  till  they  came  to  the  low  hole,  two  feet 
square,  which  led  through  the  thorns  into  the  town. 
The  mud  of  the  road  was  pounded  hard  by  the  continual 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  207 

passing  of  the  natives.  Fragments  of  a  crudely  dec- 
orated pottery  were  trodden  in  here  and  there.  Lying 
down  flat,  Merrylegs  could  see  that  the  stakes  which 
served  as  door  to  the  entrance,  were  not  in  place  inside 
the  stockade.  The  visitor  was  free  to  enter.  "  Think 
all  gone  away,"  said  Merrylegs.  "  Slave  man  he 
catch." 

Eoger  did  not  now  believe  in  the  theory  of  slave  man. 

"  It  is  nonsense,"  he  said.  "  Nonsense.  There 
must  be  death  here."  He  stood  by  the  gate,  breathing 
heavily,  not  quite  knowing,  from  time  to  time,  what  he 
was  doing,  at  other  times  knowing  clearly,  but  not  car- 
ing. Little  things,  the  crawling  of  a  tick,  the  cluck  of 
a  hen,  the  noise  of  his  own  breath,  seemed  important  to 
his  fever-clogged  brain.     "  I'll  go  in,"  he  said,  at  last. 

"  Not  go  in,"  said  Merrylegs  promptly.  "  Perhaps 
inside.  Perhaps  make  him  much  beer.  All  drunk 
him."  He  called  again  in  Mwiri,  but  no  answer  came. 
A  hen,  perhaps  expecting  food,  came  clucking  through 
the  hole,  cocking  her  eyes  at  the  strangers.  Roger, 
finding  a  bit  of  biscuit  in  his  pocket,  dropped  it  be- 
fore her.  She  worried  it  away  from  his  presence,  and 
gulped  it  down  gluttonously  before  the  other  hens 
could  see. 

Roger  knelt  down.  Peering  up  the  tunnel  he  tried 
to  make  out  what  lay  within.  He  could  not  see.  The 
entrance  passage  had  been  built  with  a  bend  in  the 
middle  for  the  greater  safety  of  the  tribe.     For  all  that 


208  MULTITUDE  A:N'D  SOLITUDE 

be  could  know,  a  warrior  might  lie  beyond  the  bend, 
ready  to  thrust  a  spear  into  him.  He  did  not  think  of 
this  till  a  long  time  afterwards.  He  began  to  shuffle 
along  the  passage  on  all  fours.  IN^othing  lay  beyond  the 
bend.  He  clambered  to  his  feet  inside  the  village. 
"  Come  on  in,  Merrylegs,"  he  called.  Merrylegs  came. 
They  looked  about  them. 

The  village  formed  an  irregular  circle  about  two  hun- 
dred yards  across.  Inside  the  thorn  hedge  it  was 
strongly  palisaded  with  wooden  spikes,  nine  feet  high, 
bound  together  with  wattle,  and  plastered  with  a  mud- 
dab.  The  huts  stood  well  away  from  the  palisade. 
They  formed  a  rough  avenue,  shaped  rather  like  a 
sickle.  There  were  thirty-five  huts  still  standing. 
The  frames  of  two  or  three  others  stood,  waiting  com- 
pletion. One  or  two  more  had  fallen  into  disrepair. 
Several  inhabitants  were  in  sight,  both  men  and 
women. 

They  were  sitting  on  the  ground,  propped  against  the 
palisades  or  the  walls  of  their  huts,  in  attitudes  which 
recalled  the  attitude  of  the  negro,  seen  long  before  in 
the  photograph  in  the  Irish  hotel.  One  of  the  men, 
rising  unsteadily  to  his  feet,  walked  towards  them  for 
some  half-dozen  paces,  paused,  seemed  to  forget,  and 
sank  down  again,  with  a  nodding  head.  A  child,  rising 
up  from  a  log,  crawled  towards  a  hen.  The  hen,  sus- 
pecting him,  moved  off.  The  child  watched  it  strut 
away  from  him  as  though  trying  to  remember  what  he 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  209 

had  planned  to  do  to  it.  He  stood  stupidly,  half  asleep. 
Slowly  he  laid  himself  down  upon  the  ground,  with  the 
movement  of  an  old  man  careful  of  the  aches  of  his 
joints.  It  seemed  to  Koger  that  the  child  had  never 
really  been  awake.  It  was  the  slow  deliberate  move- 
ment of  the  child  which  convinced  him,  through  his 
fever,  that  he  was  in  the  presence  of  the  enemy. 
''  These  people  have  sleeping  sickness,"  he  said.  The 
words  seemed  to  echo  along  his  brain,  "  sleeping  sick- 
ness, sickness,  sickness."  This  w^as  what  he  had  come 
out  to  see.  Here  was  his  work  cut  out  for  him.  This 
was  sleeping  sickness.  Here  was  a  village  down  with 
it.  It  was  shocking  to  him.  Had  he  been  in  health  it 
would  have  staggered  him.  These  sleepers  were  never 
going  to  awake.  All  these  poor  wasting  wretches  were 
dying.  He  had  never  seen  death  at  work  on  a  large 
scale  before.  He  checked  a  half-formed  impulse  to  bolt 
by  stepping  forward  into  the  enclosure,  into  the  reek 
of  death.  The  place  was  full  of  death.  He  drove 
Merrylegs  before  him.  Merrylegs  knew  the  disease. 
Merrylegs  had  no  wish  to  see  more  of  it.  He  was  for 
bolting.  "  Go  on,  Merrylegs,"  said  Eoger.  "  Sing  out 
to  them." 

Merrylegs  got  no  answer.  "  Only  dead  men  here," 
he  said.     "  Young  men,  no  catch  him,  run." 

"  Come  on  round  the  huts  then,"  said  Roger. 
"  We'll  see  how  many  have  run."  They  went  to  the 
hut  from  which  the  smoke  rose. 


210  MULTITUDE  A'NB  SOLITUDE 

An  old,  old  hideous  woman  was  crouched  there  over 
a  little  fire.  She  was  trembling  violently,  and  mum- 
bling with  her  gums.  She  cowered  away  from  Roger 
with  a  wailing  cry,  very  like  the  cry  of  a  rabbit  caught 
by  a  weasel.  "  Tiri,"  she  said,  "  tiri,"  expecting  death. 
Merrylegs  asked  her  questions;  Roger  tried  her.  It 
was  useless.  She  did  not  understand  them.  She 
mumbled  something,  shaking  her  poor  old  head,  whim- 
pering between  the  words.  Roger  gave  her  a  doll, 
which  she  hugged  and  whimpered  over.  She  was  like  a 
child  of  a  few  months  old  in  the  body  of  a  baboon. 
They  tried  another  hut. 

From  the  number  of  food  pots  stored  there,  Roger 
guessed  that  this  hut  had  once  belonged  to  a  chief. 
Two  women  lay  there,  one  in  the  last  stages  of  the  sick- 
ness, very  ill,  and  scarcely  stirring,  the  other  as  yet  only 
apathetic.  She  blinked  at  them  as  they  entered  the 
hut,  without  interest,  and  without  alarm,  just  like  an 
animal.  She  might  once  have  been  a  comely  woman, 
but  the  drowsiness  of  the  sickness  had  already  brought 
out  the  animal  in  her  face.  Her  ornaments  of  very 
thin  soft  gold  shewed  that  she  was  the  wife  of  an  im- 
portant person ;  she  may  perhaps  have  been  the  chief's 
favourite.  She  did  not  understand  Merrylegs'  dialect, 
nor  he  hers.  Possibly,  as  sometimes  happens  in  the 
disease,  she  had  no  complete  control  over  her  tongue. 
Roger  thought  that  she  might  be  thirsty.  He  poured 
water  for  her.     She  did  not  drink.     It  occurred  to 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  211 

Eoger  then  that  she  might  be  welcoming  the  disease, 
giving  way  to  it  without  a  struggle,  after  losing  hus- 
band and  child.  He  could  see  that  she  had  had  a  child, 
and  there  was  no  child  there.  "  Poor  woman,"  he  said 
to  himself.  "  Poor  wretch."  They  went  out  into  the 
open  again. 

At  the  further  end  of  the  village  Eoger  found-  evi- 
dence which  helped  him  to  make  a  theory  of  what  had 
happened.  Just  outside  the  palisade  were  the  bones  of 
a  few  bodies,  which,  as  he  supposed,  were  those  who 
had  died,  after  the  first  breaking  out  of  the  epidemic. 
If  the  epidemic  had  begun  two  months  before,  as  seemed 
likely,  these  men  and  women  must  have  been  dead  for 
about  a  fortnight.  The  sickness  and  mortality  had 
steadily  increased  since  then.  The  able,  uninfected  in- 
habitants, had  at  last  migrated  together.  They  had 
gone  off  with  their  arms  and  cattle  to  some  healthier 
place,  leaving  the  infected  to  die.  He  could  make  no 
other  explanation.  Many  of  the  huts  were  deserted. 
In  others,  still  living  sleepers  lay  among  corpses. 
Three  young  men,  a  boy,  and  an  old  man  were  the  liveli- 
est of  the  remaining  inhabitants.  Poger  had  only  to 
look  at  their  tongues  to  see  that  they,  too,  were  sealed 
for  death.  The  tongue  moved  from  the  root  with  a 
helpless  tremor.  Their  lymphatic  glands  were  swollen. 
They  themselves  were  under  no  delusions  about  their 
state.  The  cloud  was  on  them.  They  would  not  speak 
unless  they  were  spoken  to  with  some  sharpness.     They 


212  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

were  gloomily  waiting  until  the  ailment  should  blot 
everything  away  from  them.  Merrylegs  tried  to  un- 
derstand them ;  but  gave  it  up.  "  Very  poor  men,"  he 
said.  "  Know  nothing."  They  were  some  relic  (or 
outpost)  of  a  strange  tribe,  speaking  an  unknown 
tongue.  Perhaps  they  were  the  descendants  of  some 
little  wandering  band,  separated  from  its  parent  tribe, 
by  war,  pestilence,  or  mischance.  They  had  had  their 
laws,  their  arts,  their  customs.  They  had  even  thriven. 
The  game  of  life  had  gone  pleasantly  there.  Life  there 
had  been  little  more  than  a  sitting  in  the  sun,  between 
going  to  the  river  for  a  drink  and  to  the  patch  for  a 
mealie.  The  beauties  had  sleeked  themselves  with  oil, 
and  the  strong  ones  had  made  themselves  fat  with  but- 
ter. They  had  lived  "  naturally,"  like  plants  or  ani- 
mals, sharing  the  wild  things'  immunity  from  ailments. 
They  were  completely  adjusted.  Now  some  little 
change  had  altered  their  relations  to  nature.  Some- 
thing had  brought  the  trypanosome.  Now  they  died 
like  the  animals,  deserted  by  their  kind. 

The  first  shock  of  the  sight  of  this  harvest  of  death 
came  upon  Roger  dully,  through  the  shield  of  his  fever. 
He  did  not  realise  the  full  horror  of  it.  Nor  was  he 
conscious  of  the  passage  of  time.  He  stayed  in  the 
village  for  a  full  hour  before  he  returned  to  the  boat. 
In  that  hour  he  made  rough  notes  of  the  twenty-nine 
cases  still  present  there.  Sixteen  of  them,  he  hoped, 
might  yield  to  treatment.     The  others  were  practically 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  213 

dead  already  from  wasting.  The  preparation  of  the 
notes,  brief  as  they  were,  was  a  great  drain  upon  his 
strength.  The  fever  was  gaining  on  him.  He  found 
himself  staring  vacantly  between  the  writing  of  two 
words.  His  brain  was  a  perpetual  surging  tumult. 
His  eyes  seemed  to  burn  in  their  sockets.  He  remem- 
bered Lionel  with  a  great  start.  "  Lionel,"  he  re- 
peated.    "  I  must  tell  Lionel.     We  shall  stop  here." 

Outside  the  infected  village  he  looked  for  tracks.  A 
track  led  towards  the  ruin.  Another  led  away  across 
the  plain.  Both  were  as  narrow  as  a  horse's  girth,  and 
beaten  as  hard  as  earthenware.  The  old  tracks  of  cat- 
tle crossed  them.  Merrylegs,  looking  about  upon  the 
ground,  cried  out  that  the  tribe  had  gone  over  the  plain 
with  their  cattle  ten  or  eleven  days  before.  He  pointed 
to  marks  on  the  ground.     Roger  took  his  word  for  it. 

He  climbed  into  the  stern-sheets  of  the  boat,  feeling 
as  though  hot  metal  were  being  injected  into  his  joints. 
"  How  are  you  now,  Lionel  ? "  he  asked.  "  You're 
looking  pretty  bad.  This  is  a  plague  spot.  They've 
got  the  sickness  here.     They're  dying  of  it." 

"  Couldn't  you  have  come  and  told  me  before  this  ?  " 
said  Lionel.  "  I've  been  lying  here  not  knowing 
whether  you  were  dead  or  alive." 

"  I'd  a  lot  of  huts  to  examine,"  he  answered.  "  What 
do  you  think  ?  We  had  better  stop  here,  eh  ?  We  had 
better  make  this  our  station.  The  first  thing  I  shall  do 
will  be  to  get  you  into  a  bed." 


214         MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

"  That's  like  you,"  said  Lionel.  "  You  make  plans 
when  I'm  sick  and  can't  veto  them.  My  God,  if  I'd 
known  it  was  going  to  be  like  this!  Well,  I'll  never 
work  with  a  griff  again." 

"  It's  time  for  your  medicine,"  said  Roger  stolidly,  in 
order  to  change  the  subject.  He  poured  the  white  pow- 
der into  a  cigarette  paper,  and  handed  it  to  the  patient. 

"  Don't  you  dare  to  give  me  medicine,"  Lionel  an- 
swered, knocking  the  dose  away.  "  I  believe  you're 
poisoning  me.  I've  watched  you.  You're  poisoning 
me." 

"  Don't  say  things  like  that,  Lionel,"  said  Roger. 
"  You're  awfully  tired,  I  know,  but  they  hurt.  I  wish 
I  could  get  you  well,"  he  mused.  "  It's  not  so  easy  as 
you  seem  to  think,"  he  added. 

"What  isn't?" 

"  Life  here." 

"  That's  because  you're  such  a  silly  ass.  I'm  all 
right.  I  only  want  to  be  left  alone.  Well.  Get  the 
men  ashore,  can't  you?  Get  some  sort  of  a  camp 
pitched." 

"  I  am  going  to,"  said  Roger.  "  I  am  going  to  camp 
on  the  hill  there  for  to-night,  among  the  ruins."  He 
gave  some  orders. 

Lionel  sat  up.  "  Merrylegs,"  he  said,  "  drop  that. 
I  command  here." 

"  Look  here,  Heseltine,"  said  Roger.  "  I  must  do 
this." 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  215 

"  You  shall  not  wreck  the  expedition,"  said  Lionel. 
"  You're  as  ignorant  as  a  cow.  You  haven't  even  ex- 
amined the  ruin." 

Roger  paid  no  attention  to  him.  He  bade  the  men 
moor  the  boat  and  unload  her. 

"  Naldrett,"  said  Lionel,  "  if  you  persist  in  this  — 
when  I'm  sick  and  can't  stop  you  —  it's  the  end  of  our 
working  together.  We  part  company.  Put  down  that 
box,  Merrylegs.     Leave  those  things  in  the  boat." 

Eoger  had  more  strength  left  in  him  than  his  com- 
panion. The  boat  was  unloaded.  The  bearers,  leaving 
a  pile  of  boxes  by  the  river,  formed  an  Indian  file  and 
marched  with  their  burdens  of  necessaries  towards  the 
hill.  Lionel  walked,  supported  by  Roger.  He  did  not 
speak.  His  face  worked  with  the  impotent  anger  of  a 
sick  man.  Presently  Roger  noticed  that  he  was  crying 
from  mere  nervous  weakness.  He  felt  that  it  would  be 
well  to  say  nothing.  Lionel's  petulance  was  the  result 
of  fever.  If  he  said  anything,  the  petulant  mood  would 
surely  twist  it  into  a  cause  of  offence.  He  said  nothing. 
Lionel,  after  pausing  a  minute,  said  something  in  a 
faint  voice  about  the  heat.  Roger  had  not  noticed  the 
heat.  He  had  a  glowing  lime-kiln  within  him.  He 
stopped,  and  asked  if  it  were  very  hot.  "  God !  "  said 
Lionel  disgustedly.  They  walked  on,  following  the 
bearers.  Presently  Lionel  stopped  and  swore  at  the 
heat.  Roger  waited.  Each  moment  of  waiting  v^as 
torture  to  him.     Each  moment  of  physical  effort  racked 


216  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

him.  He  wanted  to  fling  himself  down  and  let  the  fever 
run  its  course. 

"  God  Almighty !  "  said  Lionel,  turning  on  him. 
"  Can't  you  answer  me  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  know  you  spoke  to  me." 

"  You  don't  know  anything." 

"  You  were  not  speaking  to  me,  you  were  swearing 
at  the  heat." 

"  What  if  I  were." 

"  If  you  could  manage  to  keep  quiet  till  we  are 
camped,"  said  Roger,  "  you'd  feel  better.  I'm  doing 
my  best  for  you." 

"  You  are,"  said  Lionel,  "  you  are.  I'm  dying  to  see 
the  sort  of  rotten  camp  you'll  make  when  you're  left 
by  yourself." 

"  Shut  up,"  said  Roger.  "  Shut  up.  I'm  too  ill  to 
talk."  The  fever  was  whirling  in  him  now.  He  could 
not  trust  himself  to  say  more.  He  was  near  the  de- 
lirious stage.  He  remembered  smelling  the  smell  of 
death,  in  a  foul  sultry  blast,  while  Merrylegs  said  some- 
thing about  the  kraal  in  the  hollow.  Looking,  half- 
drowsed,  to  his  left,  he  saw  a  kraal  littered  with  dead 
and  dying  cattle,  among  which  gorged  vultures  perched. 
Afterwards,  he  remembered  the  ruins  of  a  wall,  stand- 
ing now  about  three  feet  high.  It  was  built  of  good 
hewn  stone,  well  laid,  with  one  crenellated  course  just 
below  its  present  top.  He  could  never  remember  get- 
ting over  the  wall.     There  were  many  sunflowers.     Im- 


MULTITUDE  AXD  SOLITUDE  217 

mense  orange  sunflowers  with  limp  wavy  petals.  Sun- 
flowers growing  out  of  a  litter  of  neatly  wrought  stones. 
Mosquitoes  came  "  pinging  "  about  him,  winding  their 
sultry  horns.  Those  little  horns  seemed  to  him  to 
be  the  language  of  fever.  They  suggested  things  to 
him.  The  men  were  a  long,  long  time  pitching  the 
tent.  Something  was  wrong  with  one  of  the  men. 
The  other  men  were  keeping  apart  from  him.  The 
beds  with  their  nettings  were  ready  at  last.  Eire  was 
burning.  Something  with  a  smell  of  soup  was  being 
cooked.  In  his  sick  fancy  it  was  the  smell  of  some- 
thing dead.  He  told  them  to  take  it  away.  He  saw 
Lionel  somewhere,  much  as  a  man  at  the  point  of 
death  may  see  the  doctor  by  his  bedside.  He  could 
not  be  sure  which  of  the  two  of  them  was  the  living 
one.  Then  there  came  a  moment  when  he  could  not 
undo  the  fastening  of  his  mosquito  net.  He  saw  his 
bed  inside.  He  longed  to  be  in  bed.  All  this  torture 
would  be  over  directly  he  was  in  bed,  wTapped  up. 
But  he  could  not  get  in.  The  bed  was  shut  from  him 
by  the  mosquito  net.  He  wanted  to  get  in.  He  would 
give  the  world  to  be  in  bed.  But  he  did  not  know  how 
he  was  to  move  the  netting,  ever^'thing  smelt  of  death 
so  strongly.  It  was  very  red  everywhere,  a  smoky, 
whirling  red,  with  violent  lights.  People  were  crossing  j 
the  dusk,  or  rather  not  people,  but  streaks  of  darkness. 
They  were  making  a  great  crying  out.  They  were  too 
noisy.     Why  could  they  not  be  quiet  ?     He  ceased  to 


218  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

fumble  at  the  net.  He  began  to  see  an  endless  army 
of  artillery  going  over  a  pass.  The  men  were  all  dark ; 
the  guns  were  all  painted  black ;  the  horses  were  black. 
They  were  going  uphill  endlessly,  endlessly,  endlessly. 
He  cried  out  to  them  to  stop  that  driving,  to  do  any- 
thing rather  than  go  on  and  on  and  on  in  that  ghastly 
way.  Instantly  they  changed  to  tsetses,  riding  on  dying 
cattle.  They  were  giant  tsetses,  with  eyes  like  cannon- 
balls.  An  infernal  host  of  trypanosomes  wriggled 
around  them.  The  trypanosomes  were  wriggling  all 
over  him.  A  giant  tsetse  was  forcing  his  mouth  open 
with  a  hairy  bill,  so  that  the  trypanosomes  might  wrig- 
gle dov^ni  his  throat.  A  flattened  trypanosome,  tasting 
as  flabby  as  jelly,  was  swarming  over  his  lips. 

The  fit  passed  off  in  the  early  morning,  leaving  him 
weak,  but  alert.  Something  was  going  to  happen.  The 
air  was  as  close  as  a  blast  from  a  furnace.  He  sat  up, 
holding  by  the  tent-pole.  He  could  see  a  star  or  two. 
He  wished  that  the  horrible  smell  would  go.  It  seemed 
to  be  everywhere. 

"  Lionel,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,"  said  a  faint  voice. 

"  Have  you  slept  ?  " 

"  Yes.     I've  had  a  long  sleep.     How  are  you  ?  " 

"  The  fit's  gone.  But  I  feel  queer.  Something's 
going  to  happen." 

"  It's  very  close.  It  will  pass  off  before  morning. 
Eever  plays  the  devil  with  one,  doesn't  it  ? " 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  219 

"  Are  you  quite  better  now  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  sliall  be  all  right  now.  You'll  be  all  right 
after  some  breakfast.     It  isn't  so  bad  here,  is  it  ?  " 

"  No.  Not  so  bad.  But  there's  this  smell  of  death, 
Lionel." 

"  That's  fever.     That  will  pass  away,  you'll  find." 

"Was  I  delirious?" 

"  Yes.     A  little." 

"  You  were  pretty  bad." 

"  Yes.  I  was  pretty  bad  all  yesterday,"  said  Lionel. 
"  It's  horrible  when  one  gets  into  that  state.  One  is 
so  ashamed  afterwards.  It  is  part  of  the  sickness. 
You  w^ere  awfully  gentle  with  me,  Roger." 

"  I  saw  that  you  were  pretty  bad.  We  shall  have  to 
get  to  work  to-morrow,  and  get  things  into  order.  They 
are  in  a  bad  way  in  the  village  there.  There  are  twenty- 
nine  cases  left.     We  might  save  sixteen  of  them." 

"  Is  there  any  trace  of  how  they  got  it  ?  Do  they 
know  ? " 

"  They  don't  talk  any  language  known  to  Merrylegs." 

"  I  see.  What  are  they  like  ?  Are  they  a  good 
lot?" 

"  Yes.  They  are  good  type  negroes.  They  look  as 
if  they  might  have  something  better  in  them  than  negro 
blood.  Something  Arabian.  And  there's  this  ruin 
here." 

"  It  will  be  fun  looking  at  the  ruin.  I  wonder  if  it's 
like  the  Rhodesian  ruins.     I've  seen  those.     If  it  is. 


220  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

there  ought  to  be  gold  here.  Wrought  gold  as  well  as 
crude.     But  we  mustn't  think  of  that." 

"  No.  Let's  have  no  side-issues.  I  suppose  we'd 
better  start  an  isolation  camp  to-morrow." 

"  Yes.  Get  them  all  out  and  burn  the  village.  Then 
well  start  the  treatment." 

"  It  would  be  rather  a  feather  in  our  caps  if  we  found 
a  tsetse-cide.  A  bird  would  be  better  than  nothing. 
Or  an  ichneumon-fly  to  pierce  the  pupse." 

"  I  was  young  myself  once,"  said  Lionel.  "  I  know 
exactly  how  it  feels."  There  was  a  pause  after  this. 
Lionel  seemed  to  chuckle. 

"  Can't  you  go  to  sleep  again,  Lionel  ?  " 

"  No.     It's  too  close." 

"  It's  jolly  looking  at  the  stars.  And  I  can  see  right 
out  into  the  wilderness.  The  moon  is  wonderful.  It  is 
very  vast  out  here.  And  lonely.  It  gives  one  a  strange 
sense  of  being  full  of  memories.  I  wonder  who  built 
these  ruins." 

"  Phcenicians,  I  suppose.  In  Africa  one  puts  every- 
thing down  to  Phoenicians.  In  the  Mediterranean  it 
used  to  be  some  other  fellows;  now  it's  Iberians. 
Aryans  had  a  great  vogue  forty  years  ago ;  but  they're 
dead,  now.  Then  there  were  those  sloppy  Celts.  It'll 
be  the  Hittites  when  we  get  back." 

"  Did  you  see  Great  Zimbabwe  ?  " 

"  Yes.  But  they're  all  called  Zimbabwe.  It's  a  na- 
tive name  for  ruins.     It's  an  uncanny  place.     It  lies 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  221 

all  open.  There's  no  roof  to  it.  None  of  tbem  have 
any  roof.  Nothing  but  great  high  walls,  and  two  hide- 
ous cones  of  stone,  and  a  lot  of  corpses  under  the  floors. 
There  are  ancient  gold  workings  all  around  it.  It  is 
said  to  be  an  astronomical  temple,  as  well  as  the  site 
of  a  great  mining  towTi.  Do  you  know  miTch  about 
astronomy  ?  " 

"  No.     I  know  Sirius." 

"  I  know  Sirius.     Can  you  see  him  ?  " 

"  I  can't  see  it  from  here.     Perhaps  it  isn't  visible." 

"  It  seems  to  me  to  be  clouding  up.     Listen." 

"  Is  that  a  lion  roaring  ?  " 

"  Jump  out  a  minute."  Lionel  was  turned  out, 
standing  at  the  door  of  the  tent. 

"  Wliat's  the  matter  ?  "  Roger  asked. 

"  A  thunderstorm,"  said  Lionel.  "  Get  on  your 
things.  I  prepared  for  this.  Wrap  that  tarpaulin 
round  you,  and  come  on  out.     Don't  wait.       Come  on." 

Outside  in  the  night  the  heavens  were  fast  darkening 
under  a  whirling  purplish  cloud.  Erom  time  to  time 
the  expanse  of  cloud  glimmered  into  a  livid  reddish 
colour  with  the  passage  of  lightning.  It  was  as  though 
the  whole  lower  heaven  lightened.  Thunder  was  roll- 
ing. Great  burning  streaks  tore  the  sky  across,  loosing 
thunder  and  flame.  Roger  saw  the  bearers  moving  from 
their  fire  to  the  shelter  of  the  lee  of  the  ruins.  A  faint 
sultry  blast  fanned  against  his  face,  bringing  that  smell 
of  death  to  him.     He  turned  away,  choking.     "  Get 


222  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

away  from  the  tent/'  Lionel  shouted  in  his  ear,  over  the 
roar  of  the  thunder.  "  Tie  this  rope  round  me.  It's 
going  to  be  bad.  Get  under  the  lee  of  the  wall  there. 
Kun."  They  hurried  to  the  shelter,  on  the  tottering 
legs  of  those  who  have  just  recovered  from  fever.  As 
they  ran,  Eoger  trod  on  something  rope-like  and  mov- 
ing, which  (squirming  round)  struck  his  boot  with  a 
sharp  tap. 

'•  There's  a  snake,"  he  cried,  giving  a  jump. 

"  Did  he  get  you  ?  " 

"1^0.     Only  my  boot." 

"  Lucky  for  you.  There  may  be  death-adders  here. 
Rattle  with  your  feet.     Here  we  are.     This  will  do." 

There  came  a  sharp  pattering  of  heavy  rain-drops, 
which  beat  the  ground  like  shot  falling  on  to  tin.  In 
the  glimmer  of  a  long  flash,  which  burnt  for  a  full  ten 
seconds,  Roger  saw  Lionel  probing  the  ground  for  snakes 
with  an  outstretched  foot.  He  was  hooded  and  cowled 
w^ith  tarpaulin  from  the  boat.  He  was  scratching  a 
match,  sleepy  with  heat-damp,  to  get  a  light  for  a  ciga- 
rette. The  match  flared,  putting  the  face  in  strong 
colour  below  the  shade  of  the  cowl.  The  sky  was  being 
charged  by  a  dark  host.  There  came  a  sort  of  ele- 
mental sighing,  as  the  obscuring  of  the  vertical  stars 
began.  Out  of  the  whole  air  came  the  sighing.  It  was 
a  noise  like  waterfalls  and  pine  forests.  Then  with  a 
shattering  crash  the  storm  burst.  The  whole  sky  broke 
into  a  blaze,  as  though  a  vast  bath  of  fire  had  suddenly 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  223 

been  hurled  over.  There  was  a  roaring  as  of  the  earth 
being  split.  After  an  instant's  pause,  there  came  an 
explosion  so  terrific  that  the  two  men  huddled  up  to- 
gether instinctively.  It  grew  colder  on  the  instant. 
It  grew  icy  cold.  The  tent  stood  out  clearly,  in  every 
detail,  for  a  few  bright  seconds.  Then  the  rain  poured 
do\vn,  as  though  the  bottom  of  the  sky  had  broken. 
The  next  flash  shewed  only  a  streaming  greyness  of 
water,  pouring  down,  with  a  weight  and  force  new  to 
Roger.  It  was  a  blinding  rain,  one  could  not  face  it. 
It  made  the  world  one  grey  torrent.  It  made  the  earth 
paste  beneath  the  feet.  Brooks  were  rushing  do\vn  the 
hill  within  half  a  minute  of  its  beginning.  The  flashes 
and  thundering  never  ceased.  Crouching  up  to  the 
wall,  Roger  could  only  gulp  air  that  was  half  water. 
The  force  of  the  storm  staggered  him.  The  fury  of 
the  thunder  daunted  him.  The  splendour  of  the  light- 
ning was  so  ghastly  that  at  each  blast  he  bent  back 
against  the  wall.  A  tree  was  struck  on  the  wall  above 
him.  He  expected  to  be  struck  at  each  flash.  There 
was  no  question  of  bravery.  The  racket  and  the  glare 
were  worse  than  the  fiercest  shell-fire.  The  lightning 
seemed  to  run  across  the  sky  and  along  the  ground, 
and  out  of  the  ground.  One  smelt  it.  It  had  the  smell 
of  something  burning;  some  metal. 

The  next  instant  he  was  digging  his  fingers  into  the 
crenellations  to  save  himself  from  being  bloAvn  away. 
The  wind  came  swooping  down  with  a  rush  which  beat 


224  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

the  breath  out  of  him.  Per  one  second  the  rain  seemed 
to  pause.  It  was  merely  changing  its  direction  to  the 
horizontah  The  air  seemed  to  be  no  longer  present. 
There  was  nothing  but  a  rushing,  stinging,  blinding  tor- 
rent of  water.  After  the  wind  began,  Roger  was  not 
properly  conscious  of  anything.  He  stood  backed  up  to 
the  wall,  with  his  eyes  and  mouth  tight  shut,  his  ears 
buffeted  and  streaming,  his  nose  wrinkled  by  the  effort 
to  keep  his  eyes  shut.  Across  his  eyelids  he  sensed  the 
glimmer  of  the  lightning,  now  blinding,  now  merely 
vivid.  Everything  else  was  leaping,  howling  uproar, 
driving  wet,  driving  cold,  dominated  by  the  explosions 
aloft.  All  confusion  was  left  loose  to  feed  the  fear  of 
death  in  him.  So  they  stood  shoulder  to  shoulder,  for 
something  like  an  hour,  when  a  change  came. 

The  wind  died  away,  after  blowing  its  fiercest.  The 
rain  stopped.  The  livid  glimmering  of  the  lightning 
passed  off  into  the  distance.  The  stars  came  out. 
Roger  squelched  about  in  the  mud,  trying  to  get  some 
sensation  into  his  freezing  feet.  Lionel's  teeth  were 
chattering.  Lionel  with  numbed  fingers  was  trying  to 
light  a  sopping  match  for  the  sodden  cigarette  already 
between  his  lips. 

"  Pretty  bad  one,"  said  Lionel.     "  The  tent's  gone." 

"  It  will  be  dawn  soon,"  said  Roger,  looking  at  the 
wreck  of  the  tent.     "  It's  over  now."     He  shivered. 

"  mt  yet,"  said  Lionel.     "  That's  only  half  of  it. 


MULTITUDE  A:ND  SOLITUDE  225 

There's  the  other  half  to  come  yet.  I  wonder  how  the 
bearers  took  it." 

"  I'll  go  and  see,"  said  Roger. 

"  Stay  where  you  are,"  said  Lionel.  "  You  won't 
have  time."  The  moon  shewed  for  a  brief  moment  — 
a  sickly  moon  already  threatened  by  scud.  The  clouds 
were  rolling  up  again. 

"  This  will  be  in  our  faces,"  said  Lionel,  raising  his 
voice.  "  These  are  circular  storms."  The  wind  was 
muttering  far  off.  All  the  earth  was  filled  with  a 
gloomy  murmur.  "  Let's  get  into  the  wreck  of  the 
tent,"  Lionel  added  in  a  shout.  "  Into  the  v^Teck  of 
the  tent.  We  may  die  of  cold  if  we  don't."  They 
hove  up  the  heavy  canvas  so  that  they  might  creep 
within,  under  the  folds.  They  cowered  there  close  to- 
gether, waiting,  chilled  to  the  bone. 

"  It's  jolly  cold,"  said  Roger,  with  chattering  teeth. 

"  Yes,"  said  Lionel.  "  I've  kno^vn  a  man  die  in  one 
of  these.     Hold  tight.     Here  it  comes." 

It  came  with  such  a  shock  of  thunder  and  fire  of  light- 
ning that  they  both  started.  They  felt  the  folds  of  the 
tent  surge  and  lift  above  them  as  the  wind  beat  upon  it. 
Some  flap  had  blown  loose.  It  flogged  at  Roger  like  a 
bar  of  hard  wood.  He  understood  then  what  sailors 
meant  by  wind.  He  felt  a  sort  of  exultation  for  a  mo- 
ment. Then  one  terrible  blast  flung  him  on  his  side, 
and  rolled  a  great  weight  of  wet  canvas  on  him.     He 


226  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

felt  it  quiver  and  hesitate.  The  wind  seemed  to  he 
heaving  and  heaving,  with  multitudinous  little  howling 
devils.  Thej  were  heaving  up  and  heaving  under. 
The  whole  mass  hesitated.  He  was  moved,  he  was 
swayed.  He  felt  the  fabric  pause  and  totter  upward 
and  sink  down.  "  We're  going,"  he  muttered,  gulping. 
Afterwards,  he  maintained  that  nothing  but  the  weight 
of  the  rain  kept  him  from  being  blown  away.  Water 
was  gurgling  in  the  ground  beneath  him.  Water  was 
running  up  his  sleeves,  and  down  his  neck.  Water 
spouted  on  him  as  he  beat  away  the  folds  to  get  air. 
A  grand  and  ghastly  fire  was  running  across  heaven. 
Shocks  were  striking  the  earth  all  around  him.  An- 
other tree  was  blasted.  Thunder  broke  out  above  in  a 
long  rippling  crescendo  of  splitting  cracks.  That,  and 
the  pouring  of  a  cataract  into  his  face  made  him  draw 
back  the  fold.  He  cowered.  He  had  lost  touch  with 
Lionel.  He  did  not  know  where  Lionel  was.  His  foot 
struck  something  hard.  Groping  down,  hungry  for 
companionship,  he  found  that  it  was  the  broken  tent- 
pole.  Another  gust  lifted  him.  It  gathered  strength. 
It  swept  the  folds  from  his  hands  and  sent  the  edge 
flogging,  flogging,  flogging,  with  its  lashes  of  rope  and 
tent-pegs.  The  full  fury  of  the  storm  was  on  him. 
The  tent  was  bundling  itself  up  into  ruin  against  the 
boxes.  He  was  sitting  in  wet  mud  assailed  by  every 
devil  of  bad  weather.  Lionel  was  by  his  side  shouting 
into  his  ear.     "  Don't  stand,"  came  the  far-away  voice. 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  227 

"Get  struck."  He  nodded  when  next  the  flames  ran 
round.  It  seemed  likely  that  he  would  be  struck.  It 
was  a  quick  death,  so  people  said.  He  found  himself 
saying  aloud  that  it  would  be  terrible  if  Lionel  were 
struck,  Wliat  then?  What  would  he  do  then?  He 
craned  round  into  the  beating  rain  to  try  to  get  a 
glimpse  of  the  bearers.  He  could  see  nothing  but  rain 
and  that  reddish  running  glimmer  of  living  light. 

He  did  not  feel  much.  He  was  too  cold,  too  weak, 
too  frightened.  If  he  had  been  able  to  define  his  feel- 
ings he  would  have  said  that  he  was  thinking  it  impos- 
sible that  he  could  ever  have  been  dry,  or  warm,  or 
happy.  His  old  life  was  a  far-off  inconceivable  dream. 
That  he  had  ever  sat  by  a  fire  seemed  inconceivable. 
That  there  was  such  a  thing  as  a  sun  seemed  inconceiv- 
able. That  life  could  be  dignified,  tender,  or  heroic 
seemed  inconceivable.  "  If  this  isn't  misery,"  he  mut- 
tered, shaking,  "  I  don't  know  what  is.  I  don't  know 
what  is."  He  felt  suddenly  that  water  was  running  un- 
der him  in  a  good  strong  stream,  several  inches  deep. 
Putting  his  hand  down,  it  slopped  up  to  the  wrist  in  a 
current.  He  groped  with  his  hand.  As  he  put  it  down 
some  beetle  in  the  water  pinched  him  briskly,  turning 
him  sick  for  a  moment  with  the  memory  of  the  snake 
which  had  struck  his  boot.  Standing  up  hurriedly,  the 
water  rose  above  his  boots.  Looking  up,  an  opening  in 
the  clouds  shewed  him  the  moon,  a  beaten  swimmer  in  a 
mill-race.     The  storm  was  breaking. 


228  MULTITUDE  AI^D  SOLITUDE 

Kot  long  after  that  it  broke.  The  stars  came  out. 
The  wind  ceased  from  her  whirling  about  continually. 
She  blew  steady,  in  a  brisk  fresh  gale,  bringing  up  the 
clearing  showers.  The  showers  would  have  seemed  tor- 
rents at  other  times,  but  to  Roger,  now,  they  were  lit- 
tle drizzles.  Lionel  and  he  found  a  sort  of  cave  in 
the  tent.  Part  of  the  canvas  had  wedged  itself  under 
the  pole.  The  rest  had  been  blown  across  a  pile  of  boxes 
on  to  the  wall.  Being  supported  now  by  those  two  up- 
rights it  roofed  in  a  narrow  shelter  about  five  feet  long. 
They  crept  into  this  shelter,  dead  beat  from  the  cold. 
For  a  while  they  sat  crouched  close  together,  with  chat- 
tering teeth.  Then  they  drew  a  few  folds  of  the  canvas 
over  them  and  lay  still,  trying  to  get  warmth  and  sleep. 
They  were  not  very  sure  that  they  would  live  to  see  the 
davm.  Roger  thought  vaguely  of  the  bearers.  He 
wondered  what  they  had  done,  prompted  by  their  knowl- 
edge of  these  storms.  A  dull,  heavy,  steady  roaring 
noise  seemed  to  be  coming  from  the  river.  He  won- 
dered if  the  water  had  risen  much,  after  all  that  tor- 
rential rain.  Thinking  vaguely  of  a  flood,  he  wondered 
if  the  boat  were  safe.  It  seemed  a  long,  long  time  since 
they  had  left  the  boat.  He  must  have  left  the  boat  in 
some  other  life.  The  sun  had  been  shining,  he  had  been 
hot,  he  had  passed  through  a  glorious  landscape.  He 
had  seen  the  peacocks  of  the  Queen  of  Sheba  jetting 
among  flowers  which  were  like  burning  precious  stones. 
That  was  long  ago.     That  was  over  forever.     But  yet 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  229 

he  wondered  vaguely  about  the  boat.  Was  it  safe,  there 
in  the  broad? 

"  Lionel,"  he  said  gently.     "  Can  you  sleep  ?  " 

"  l!^o.     We  shall  get  warm  presently." 

"  It's  jolly  wretched." 

"  It'll  be  all  right  when  we  get  warm.  Don't  let's 
talk." 

"  Is  the  boat  all  right,  do  you  think  ?  The  water  is 
roaring  in  the  river." 

"  The  boat  ?  I  can't  think  about  the  boat.  She  was 
moored  or  something."  Their  teeth  chattered  again  for 
some  little  time.  Presently,  as  they  lay  there  shiver- 
ing, they  felt  the  uneasy  aching  warmth  which  some- 
times comes  to  those  w^ho  sleep  in  wet  clothes.  It  is 
much  such  an  unpleasant  heat  as  wet  grass  generates  in 
a  rick.  There  is  cramp  and  pain  in  it.  The  muscles 
rise  up  into  little  knots  and  bunch  themselves.  Still, 
it  is  heat  of  a  kind.  They  lay  awake,  rubbing  their 
contorted  muscles,  until,  a  little  before  the  dawn,  they 
were  warm  enough  to  doze.  They  dozed  off,  then,  wak- 
ing up,  from  time  to  time,  generally  once  in  ten  min- 
utes, to  turn  uneasily,  so  that  the  aching  muscles  might 
cease  to  twist  into  little  knots  and  bunches. 


IX 

Where  be  these  cannibals,   these   varlets? 

The  fihoemakefs  Holiday. 

THE  rain  ceased  before  dawn.  When  tlie  two 
friends  felt  strong  enough  to  turn  out,  the  sun 
was  already  burning.  It  was  after  half-past 
seven  o'clock.  The  brooks  which  had  washed  past  them 
and  over  them,  only  three  or  four  hours  before,  were 
no  longer  running.  Their  tracks  were  marked  on  the 
hillside,  in  broad,  shallow,  muddy  ruts,  and  in  paths 
of  plastered  grass.  The  river  had  been  over  its  banks 
not  long  before.  It  was  swirling  along  now,  brimful, 
as  red  as  water  from  an  ironworks.  Roger  remembered 
the  water  running  by  a  road  near  Portobe,  from  some 
ironworks  up  the  hill.  It  was  just  that  savage  colour. 
He  felt  a  qualm  of  home-sickness.  He  turned  to  blink 
at  the  sun  for  the  pleasure  of  the  warmth  upon  his  face. 
The  camp  was  a  quag  of  mud.  Eed  splashes  plas- 
tered the  boxes.  The  tent  was  half-buried  in  it.  His 
clothes,  and  the  covering  tarpaulin,  were  smeared  with 
it.  He  felt  that  it  had  been  worked,  not  only  into  his 
skin,  but  into  his  nature.     He  had  never  before  known 

what  it  is  to  be  really  dirty,  nor  what  continued  dirt 

230 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE    '       231 

may  mean  to  the  character.  The  site  of  the  camp  was 
trodden  and  spattered  and  beslimed,  yet  the  brightness 
of  morning  made  it  hard  for  him  to  believe  that  such  a 
storm  had  passed  over  him  only  a  little  while  before. 
He  noticed  the  trees  which  had  been  blasted  by  the  light- 
ning.    It  had  not  all  been  nightmare. 

Up  the  hill,  beyond  three  small  circling  walls,  no 
taller  than  the  wall  beside  him,  rose  np  the  great  central 
walls.  They  stood  out  clearly  in  the  strong  light. 
They  were  good,  well-built  walls,  with  crenellated 
courses  near  the  top,  in  the  right  artistic  place,  in  the 
inevitable  place.  The  crenellations  shewed  Roger  that 
he  was  not  widely  removed  from  the  builders,  in  spirit. 
They  talked  the  universal  language  of  art.  But  they 
were  more  than  talkers,  these  old  men.  Their  work  was 
splendid.  It  had  style.  It  had  the  impress  of  will 
upon  it.  The  idea  had  been  thought  out  to  its  simplest 
terms.  The  walls  were  solid  with  that  simple  strength 
which  the  efficient  nations  of  antiquity,  not  yet  cor- 
rupted by  sentiment,  affected,  in  public  building. 
Though  they  were  not  like  Roman  work,  they  reminded 
Roger  of  walls  at  Richborough  and  Caerwent.  There 
was  something  of  the  same  pagan  spirit  in  them,  some- 
thing strong,  and  fine,  and  uncanny.  Even  with  the 
flowering  shrubs  and  grass  clumps  on  them,  these  walls 
were  uncanny.  lie  shivered  a  little.  The  lonely  hill 
had  once  been  a  city,  where  strong,  fine,  uncanny  brains 
had  lived. 


232  MULTITUDE  Al^D  SOLITUDE 

Lionel  crawled  out.  "  Where's  Merrylegs  ? "  he 
asked.     "  Wliy  haven't  they  brought  our  tea  ?  " 

Roger  started.  Wliere  were  the  hearers?  He  had 
not  seen  them  since  he  had  noticed  them  go  to  cover 
before  the  bursting  of  the  storm.  They  had  gone. 
They  had  not  come  back.  They  had  not  even  lighted 
a  fire.  "  I  don't  know  where  they  are,"  he  said. 
"  "Where  can  they  be  ?  " 

"  Haven't  you  seen  them  ?  "  said  Lionel. 

"  N^o,"  he  answered.  "  They're  not  here.  Mer- 
rylegs !  "  he  shouted.  "  Merry  legs !  "  No  answer 
came. 

Lionel's  face  changed  slightly.  He  jumped  on  to  the 
low  wall,  and  looked  downhill  towards  the  village.  The 
view  over  that  waste  of  pale  grass,  through  which  the 
river  ran,  was  very  splendid ;  but  Lionel  was  not  look- 
ing for  landscape.  "  Give  me  the  glasses,"  he  said. 
He  stared  through  them  for  several  minutes,  sweeping 
the  plain.  "  Run  up  into  the  ruins,  Roger,"  said 
Lionel.     "  They  may  be  there." 

"  Wait  one  minute,"  said  Roger.  "  There  is  smoke 
in  the  village.  That  is  too  big  a  fire  for  the  people 
whom  I  saw  there  to  have  made." 

"  Wet  wood,"  said  Lionel  promptly.  "  Come  on. 
We  must  get  these  boys  into  order." 

They  hurried  up  the  hill,  calling  for  Merrylegs. 
After  a  couple  of  minutes  Roger  stopped.  "  Lionel," 
he  said.     "  During  the  storm,  or  just  before  it,  I  saw 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  233 

them  go  to  shelter  under  the  lee  of  the  wall  there. 
Their  tracks  will  be  iu  the  mud.  We  could  follow  them 
up  in  that  way," 

"  Yes,"  said  Lionel.  "  They're  not  up  here,  any- 
how." 

After  some  little  search,  they  found  where  the  bear- 
ers had  sheltered  before  the  storm  threatened.  A  vul- 
ture shewed  them  the  exact  place.  Two  other  vultures 
were  there  already.  The  storm  had  killed  one  of  the 
men. 

"  It's  Rukwo,  the  lazy  one,"  said  Lionel.  "  I  noticed 
last  night  that  there  was  something  the  matter  with  him. 
Perhaps  you  saw  how  the  others  fought  shy  of  him. 
These  fellows  are  like  animals,  aren't  they,  in  the  way 
they  leave  their  sick  ? "  He  looked  at  the  body. 
"  Dysentery  and  the  cold,  I  suppose,"  he  said.  "  With 
Kilemba  dead  last  night,  the  village  full  of  dead  down 
below  us,  the  storm,  then  this  fellow  dying,  it  has  been 
too  much  for  them.  I'm  afraid,  Roger,  that  the  men 
have  deserted  us." 

"  Gone  ?  "  said  Roger  blankly.  It  had  not  occurred 
to  him  before  as  a  possibility. 

"  I'm  afraid,"  said  Lionel,  moving  away.  "  Here  is 
where  they  sheltered  for  the  storm.  There  are  their 
tracks  leading  downhill.  You  see  ?  Here.  See  ? 
Still  half  full  of  water.  They  cleared  out  in  the  night 
during  the  showers.  They've  got  three  or  four  hours' 
start  of  us." 


234  MULTITUDE  A:N"D  SOLITUDE 

"  Well,"  said  Eoger.  "  Come  on.  We'd  better  eat 
as  we  go.     Otherwise  we  may  never  catch  them  up." 

"  They'll  have  gone  in  the  boat,"  said  Lionel. 
"  With  this  flood  they'll  be  a  day's  march  downstream. 
There's  no  trace  of  the  boat  in  the  lagoon  there." 

"  She  may  have  been  swept  away,"  said  Roger,  after 
a  glance  through  the  glasses.  "  The  stores  are  there 
still."  By  this  time  they  were  hurrying  downhill  to- 
wards the  village.  Both  were  thinking  how  fiercely 
they  would  thrash  Merrylegs  and  how  little  chance  there 
was  of  finding  any  Merrylegs  to  thrash.  Anger  burned 
up  in  hot  bursts,  and  the  cold  water  of  despair  put 
it  out  again.  Roger  felt  it  more  keenly  than  Lionel. 
He  was  less  used  to  the  shocks  of  travel.  He  wondered, 
as  he  hurried,  what  stores  had  been  left  in  the  boat, 
and  what  had  been  piled  on  the  bank  to  be  carried  up 
next  day.  He  had  been  ill ;  he  had  never  noticed.  The 
men  had  done  as  they  pleased.  He  reproached  himself 
so  bitterly  that  he  hardly  dared  look  at  his  friend.  He 
wondered  whether  the  men  had  taken  anything  of  su- 
preme importance.  He  feared  the  worst.  If  they  had 
taken  anything  important  he  would  be  to  blame.  It 
was  his  fault.  He  ought  to  have  guarded  against  this. 
He  ought  to  have  taken  the  paddles.  He  ought  to  have 
ordered  the  men  to  bring  everything  up  to  camp,  where 
it  would  have  been  under  his  own  eyes.  Lionel  looked 
at  him  quizzically. 

"  Don't  cross  the  river  till  you  reach  the  water,"  he 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  235 

said.  "  We  may  catch  them.  They  may  not  have 
gone." 

On  their  way  they  looked  through  the  village.  The 
bearers  were  not  there.  Lionel  tried  to  make  the  vil- 
lagers understand  him  by  signs;  but  they  w^ere  too 
strongly  infected  to  understand  a  difficult  thing.  He 
had  to  give  them  up.  He  bade  Roger  fill  his  pockets 
with  some  bruised  corn  which  they  found  in  one  of  the 
pots  of  an  empty  hut.  They  munched  this  as  they 
went.     Their  next  task  was  to  run  out  the  trail. 

By  the  village  drinking-place  the  river  had  over- 
flowed the  bank.  It  had  torn  up  a  couple  of  trees, 
which  now  lay  branches  downward  in  the  water,  arrest- 
ing wreckage.  It  had  surged  strongly  against  the 
boxes,  driving  them  from  their  place,  but  not  destroy- 
ing them.  It  had  heaped  them  with  drift,  and  coloured 
them  a  yellowish  red.  The  footmarks  of  the  bearers 
were  thickly  printed  in  the  mud  there.  They  must  have 
arrived  there  in  the  early  morning,  when  the  waters 
were  beginning  to  fall. 

"  They've  been  busy,"  said  Roger.  All  the  boxes 
had  been  broken  open.  Their  contents  were  tumbled 
in  the  mud  in  all  directions. 

"  Look  here,"  said  Lionel.  "  What  do  you  make  of 
these  marks  ?  "  In  one  place  the  mud  had  been  planed 
smooth  in  a  long  plastering  smear,  ending  in  a  notch 
or  narrow  groove. 

"  That  was  made  by  the  boat,"  said  Roger. 


236  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

"  Yes,"  said  Lionel.  "  That  was  the  boat.  You  can 
see  the  puncture  in  the  mud  there.  That  was  made  by 
the  projecting  screw  in  the  false  nose.  You  remember 
the  screw  we  put  in  at  Malakoto?  They  shoved  off 
here." 

"  Yes.  'No  doubt.  That  is  the  screw.  So  they've 
sampled  the  goods  and  gone." 

"  That  is  so.     They've  robbed  us  and  run  away." 

"  And  we  are  stranded  in  the  heart  of  the  wilder- 
ness ? " 

"  We  are  alone,  three  hundred  miles  from  any  white 
man." 

"  Yes.  Then  we  are  alone,"  said  Eoger.  "  We  are 
alone  here."  The  words  thrilled  him.  They  were 
meaning  words. 

"  We  can't  go  after  them,"  said  Lionel.  *'  They've 
got  too  big  a  start." 

"  We've  got  no  boat  to  go  in." 

"  I  wish,"  said  Lionel,  "  I  wish  these  riverine  negroes 
used  canoes." 

"  They  don't." 

"  :N'o,"  said  Lionel.  "  They  don't.  Well.  It's  no 
good  moping." 

"  We  could  follow  downstream,"  said  Eoger,  "  and 
perhaps  catch  them  at  Malakoto." 

Lionel  shook  his  head.  "  There  are  the  swamps,"  he 
said.  "  And  we've  both  got  fever  on  us.  I  doubt  if 
we  could  get  through.     We  might." 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  237 

"  We  shall  have  to  try  it  in  the  end,  if  we  are  to  get 
away  at  all." 

"  I  was  thinking  that,"  said  Lionel.  "  But  when 
we  try  it,  it  will  be  the  end  of  the  dry  season, 
when  the  swamps  will  be  passable.  The  swamps 
now  are  as  bad  as  they  can  be.  Honestly,  Eoger, 
I  don't  think  we  could  make  Malakoto,  carrying 
our  own  stores.  It's  ten  days;  and  those  others 
wouldn't  stay  at  Malakoto,  remember.  They'd  make 
for  Kisa.  No.  Best  give  in.  They've  won  the 
trick." 

"  And  we're  to  lose  all  these  stores ;  about  a  hundred 
pounds'  worth  of  stores  ?  " 

"  That's  the  minimum,  I'm  afraid." 

"  It's  a  bad  beginning,"  said  Roger.  He  walked  to 
and  fro,  fretting.  "  Doesn't  it  make  your  blood  boil  ?  " 
he  continued.  "  Look  at  the  way  the  brutes  have  tossed 
the  things  about.  I'd  give  a  good  deal  to  have  a  few 
of  them  here." 

Lionel  sat  do\m  on  a  box  and  stared  meditatively  at 
the  wreck.  "  Roger,"  he  said  at  length.  "  Have  you 
any  idea  what  stores  were  brought  up  the  hill  last 
night  ?  " 

"  Mostly  the  bow-stores,  I  suppose ;  provisions,  bed- 
ding, and  camp  gear." 

"  That's  what  I  was  afraid,"  said  Lionel. 

"  What  are  you  afraid  of  ?  " 

"  Come  on.     Let's  face  it,"  said  Lionel,  springing 


238  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

from  his  perch.     "  We  must  get  these  things  out  of  the 
mud.     We  must  see  how  we  stand." 

"  You  mean  we  may  be  —  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 
"  We  must  see  what  stores  are  left  to  us." 
They  set  to  work  together  to  pick  up  the  wreck. 
They  began  with  cartridges,  which  had  been  scattered 
broadcast  in  wantonness.  Many  were  spoiled;  many 
missing.  Marks  on  the  gTass  shewed  that  others  had 
been  carefully  emptied,  so  that  the  thieves  might  have 
the  brass  shells  enclosing  the  charges.  Still,  a  good 
many  were  to  be  found.  The  two  men  recovered  about 
fifty  rounds  of  Winchester,  and  eighty  rounds  of  re- 
volver ammunition.  With  what  they  wore  in  their  belts 
this  amount  was  reassuring. 

"  Look  here,"  said  Eoger.     "  Here's  a  box  of  slides. 
They're  all  smashed." 

"  Was  the  microscope  not  brought  up  ?  " 
"  I  don't  know,"  said  Roger.     "  It  was  in  a  box  with 
a  blue  stencil." 

"  I  know,"  said  Lionel.     "  I've  been  looking  out  for 
it.     I    thought    it    wasn't    here.     Look.     Over    there. 
There's  part  of  a  lid  with  a  blue  stencil.     Is  that  the 
lid  for  the  microscope  ?  " 
"  iSTo,  that's  a  drugs  lid." 

"  They  can't  have  taken  it  with  them.     Surely  they 
wouldn't  take  a  microscope." 

"  It  might  be  up  in  the  camp  all  this  time." 

"  Yes.     True.     Wait.     We'll  get  these  things  out  of 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  239 

the  mud,  and  then  we'll  go  up  the  hill,  and  make  a  list 
of  what  is  missing.  Ilere's  our  stationery  ruined.  All 
our  nice  clean  temperature  charts  that  I  set  such  store 
by.  I  told  you  life  was  wasteful  out  here.  All  your 
pressed  plants  are  done  for," 

"  Here  are  clothes,  of  sorts.     Jaeger  underwear." 

"  Fish  them  out.     We'll  wash  them  afterwards." 

They  quartered  the  expanse  of  red  slime.  It  was  a 
sort  of  Tom  Tiddler's  gTOund,  littered  with  European 
goods.  They  worked  quickly,  racing  the  sun.  Erom 
time  to  time  there  came  hails  of  "  The  tool-chest's  gone. 
Here's  the  lid."  "  Your  small  stores  won't  be  much 
good,  the  soap's  melted  or  something."  "  Look  at  what 
these  brutes  have  done  to  the  sugar." 

Presently  Lionel  hailed. 

"  I  say.  I  say.  Have  you  come  across  any 
drugs  ? " 

"  ISTo.     Only  the  lid  of  a  drugs  box." 

"  Well.  It's  getting  serious.  There's  no  other  box 
here.  We  must  go  on  back  to  camp  and  find  out  if 
they  are  there." 

"  We  shall  be  done,  without  drugs,"  said  Roger. 

"  Don't  talk  about  it,  my  dear  man,"  said  Lionel. 
"  Don't  talk  about  it." 

"  It  would  be  worth  while  making  a  raft,"  said  Roger. 
"  There  are  a  couple  of  axes  in  camp.  If  we  worked 
hard  all  morning,  we  could  get  a  sort  of  a  raft  built. 
We  could  use  the  tent-ropes  for  lashings.     Then  we 


240  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

could  easily  rig  up  a  sail.  We  should  catch  them  up  by 
dusk,  perhaps." 

"  There  are  points  about  the  raft  theory,"  said  Lionel, 
as  they  set  out  for  camp.  "  But  there  are  so  many 
creeks  and  gullies  where  they  could  hide,  and  then  there 
are  the  crocks." 

"  We  could  build  a  sort  of  bulwark  of  boxes." 

"  We'll  find  out  about  the  drugs  first.  No.  If  we 
go  working  hard  in  the  sun  we  shall  get  fever  again." 
He  wrinkled  his  brows.  He  was  anxious.  "  I  hope 
those  drugs  are  all  right,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  mind  the 
guns ;  but  our  drugs  are  portable  life." 

Roger  glanced  uneasily  at  Lionel.  He  had  got  to 
know  him  pretty  well  during  the  last  few  months.  He 
had  come  to  know  that  though  he  was  sometimes  irri- 
table, he  was  very  seldom  given  to  despondent  speech. 
Now  he  was  talking  anxiously,  from  the  selfish  stand- 
point of  "  I."  Roger  thought  of  the  precious  bottles  of 
atoxyl,  worth  a  good  deal  more  than  a  guinea  an  ounce. 
Lionel's  remark  was  true.  They  were  portable  life. 
And  if  the  atoxyl  were  gone,  their  mission  was  at  an 
end.  No.  It  was  worse  than  that.  If  the  atoxyl  were 
gone,  Lionel  was  in  danger.  Eor  suppose  the  trypan- 
osomes  recurred  in  him,  as  they  might,  in  this  hot 
climate?  Suppose  Lionel  developed  sleeping  sickness 
and  died,  as  the  people  in  the  village  were  dying,  before 
they  could  win  to  civilisation  ?  He  did  not  find  any 
answer  to  the  problem.     Hoping  to  distract  Lionel,  he 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  241 

began  gallantly  to  talk  of  the  Phoenicians,  about  whom 
he  was  sufficiently  ignorant  to  escape  attention. 

In  the  camp  things  were  as  they  had  been,  except 
that  they  were  drier.  They  turned  over  the  boxes, 
looking  eagerly  for  blue  stencil. 

"  Here's  the  microscope,"  said  Roger.  "  Or  I  think 
it  is."  He  prized  the  case  open  with  the  jemmy  on  the 
end  of  the  peg-maul.  "  Yes.  The  microscope's  all 
right.  Some  of  our  test-tube  things  are  smashed. 
Some  of  the  media.  There  are  plenty  of  those,  though, 
do\\Ti  in  the  mud.  That's  one  thing  to  the  good. 
What's  in  the  case  there  ?  " 

"  Anti-scorbutics  here." 

"  And  in  the  long  box  ?  " 

"  Grub  of  different  kinds." 

"  Here  you  are,  then.     Here's  a  drugs  case." 

"Saved!" 

"  Shall  I  open  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  open  it.  TVe  did  a  very  foolish  thing,  Roger. 
We  ought  to  have  packed  each  box  as  a  miniature 
equipment,  so  as  to  minimise  the  importance  of  any 
losses.  It's  in  my  mind  that  all  our  atoxyl  is  in  one 
case." 

"  No,"  said  Roger.  "  It  was  in  three  cases.  One  of 
them,  I  know,  was  in  the  boat.  I  was  sitting  on  it 
most  of  yesterday." 

"  Well.  Open  that  one,  and  let's  see  where  we 
stand." 


242  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

The  well-fixed  screws  were  drawn.  The  box  lay  open 
to  the  sun,  exuding  a  faint,  cleanly  smell  of  camphor. 

Lionel  looked  over  the  drug  pots,  muttering  the 
names :  "  Mercury  bi-chlor,  sodium  carb,  sodium 
chlor,  sodium  cit,  corrosive  sublimate,  quinine,  quinine, 
quinine,  potassium  bromide  —  we  shan't  want  much 
of  that  —  absolute  alcohol,  carbolic,  first-aid  dressings, 
chlorodyne,  morphia,  camphorated  chalk  for  the  teeth, 
what's  this  ?  —  digitalis.  What  the  devil  did  they  send 
that  for  ?     There's  no  atoxyl  here." 

"  Nor  that  other  stuff,  the  dye,  trypanroth  ?  " 

"  No.  "We  didn't  order  any.  It  wasn't  altogether  a 
success  with  me,  and  it  wasn't  being  so  well  spoken  of." 

"  That's  unfortunate.  But  wait  a  minute.  I  see  an- 
other drug  case.  Over  there,  against  the  wall.  Isn't 
that  a  drug  case  ?  " 

"  It  is.  Chuck  the  jemmy  over."  He  did  not  wait 
to  draw  the  screws.  He  prized  the  lid  off  with  two 
quick  wrenches  of  the  jemmy.     He  looked  inside. 

"  A  quaker,"  he  said  grimly,  after  one  look.  "  It's  a 
quaker  case." 

"  What's  a  quaker  ?  " 

"  This  case  here  is  what  we  call  a  quaker.  Why  ? 
Because  it  makes  one  quake.  Look  at  these  bottles. 
They're  full  of  paper  and  sawdust.  Look  at  this  one. 
Old  rags.  Here's  a  2-lb.  atoxyl  bottle,  for  which  we 
paid  twenty-eight  pounds,  not  to  speak  of  the  duty.  It's 
full  of  dust  like  the  rest." 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  243 

"  But,  good  Lord,  Lionel !  Where  could  it  have  been 
done  ?  Who  could  have  done  it  ?  We  got  these  direct 
from  the  very  best  London  house." 

"  There  were  rats  on  the  wa}^,"  said  Lionel.  "  You 
remember  we  stopped  off  a  day  at  that  place  Kwasi 
Bembo,  where  we  hired  Merrylegs  ?  Well.  This  was 
probably  done  at  Kwasi  Bembo  by  one  of  those  foreign 
storekeepers.  An  easy  way  of  making  money  for 
them." 

"  I  don't  see  how  he  did  it." 

"  Oh,  he  could  have  done  it  easily  enough,  while  we 
were  having  our  siestas.  It  doesn't  matter  much, 
though,  where  it  was  done,  does  it  ?  " 

"  Don't  despair  yet,"  said  Eoger.  "  There  must  be 
another  box  somewhere.  Here.  Open  this  one.  The 
stencil  is  ground  off.     Wliat's  inside  this  one  ?  " 

"  It  looks  promising,"  said  Lionel.  "  It's  screwed ; 
it  isn't  nailed.  Off,  now."  He  thrust  the  lid  away 
with  a  violent  heave.     Eoger  peered  in  anxiously. 

"  jSTothing  but  stones  in  this  one,"  said  Lionel. 
"  Not  even  our  bottles  left.  We'd  better  open  all  our 
cases,  and  find  out  what  else  has  been  taken.  I  suppose 
that's  our  last  box  of  chemicals  ?  " 

"  It's  the  last  here." 

"Never  mind,"  said  Roger.  "We  won't  despair. 
Let's  see  what  is  left  to  us."  They  examined  the  other 
cases.  They  made  out  an  inventory  of  their  possessions. 
They  learned  that  they  were  left  in  the  heart  of  Africa 


244  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

with  provisions  for  three  months,  forty  pounds'  weight 
of  anti-scorbutics,  a  quantity  of  clothing,  a  moderate 
supply  of  ammunition,  two  rifles,  two  revolvers,  a  shot- 
gun, many  disinfectants,  an  assortment  of  choice  drugs, 
some  medical  instruments,  and  a  microscope.  Of  med- 
ical comforts  they  had  sparklets,  tobacco,  soap,  matches, 
and  two  bottles  of  brandy.  Of  quaker  cases  they  found, 
in  all,  five,  all  of  them  purporting  to  be  either  chem- 
icals or  cartridges.  Of  utensils  they  had  a  tin  basin, 
plates,  and  pannikins.  For  shelter  they  had  a  tent  with 
a  broken  pole. 

"  Lionel,"  said  Roger,  when  they  had  checked  their 
list.  "  Look  here.  We've  been  up  here  a  good  hour 
and  a  half.  The  water  will  have  fallen  a  foot  or  more. 
By  the  time  we  have  cooked  and  eaten  breakfast  it 
will  have  fallen  another  foot.  It  is  quite  possible  that 
by  that  time  there  will  be  some  more  goods,  perhaps, 
even,  some  more  cases,  left  high  and  dry  on  the  bank. 
We  won't  worry  about  our  loss  till  we  know  it.  If  we 
breakfast  now  we  shall  be  strong  enough  to  bear  what- 
ever may  be  coming  to  us.  Let's  get  a  fire  started. 
We'll  brew  some  tea  and  sacrifice  a  tin  of  soup.  Let's 
be  extravagant  and  enjoy  ourselves." 

They  were  sufficiently  extravagant  over  breakfast, 
but  they  got  little  enjoyment  out  of  it.  They  had 
rankling  anger  in  them,  against  their  enemies,  known 
and  unknown.     When  their  anger  gave  them  leave, 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  2^5 

they  felt,  low  down,  a  chilling,  sinking  fear  that  their 
plans  for  the  saving  of  life  would  come  to  nothing,  that, 
in  short,  their  expedition  was  a  failure. 

"  Lionel,"  said  Roger.  "  Do  you  think  that  the  fraud 
of  the  atoxyl  was  done  in  London  ?  Surely  Morris  and 
Henslow  wouldn't  do  a  thing  like  that  ?  " 

"  Who  knows  what  they  won't  do  ? "  said  Lionel 
gloomily.  "  I  know  that  some  contractor  or  other  al- 
ways supplies  shoddy  of  some  kind  to  an  expedition 
to  one  of  the  Poles.  Why  not  to  us  ?  There  is  always 
the  chance  that  the  expedition  won't  return.  And 
even  if  it  does  return,  the  fraud  is  quite  likely  not  to 
become  kno^vn  to  the  public.  And  even  if  the  case 
comes  on  in  a  law  court,  who  can  prove  it  ?  There  are 
too  many  loopholes.  It  is  almost  impossible  to  bring 
the  guilt  really  home.  The  contractor  practically  never 
gets  found  out.  As  for  a  contractor  being  punished,  I 
don't  suppose  it  has  ever  happened.  It  makes  one  be- 
lieve in  hell." 

"  It's  not  the  crime  itself,"  said  Roger.  "  ISTot  know- 
ing the  criminal,  I  cannot  judge  the  crime;  but  it's  the 
state  of  mind  which  sickens  me.  The  state  of  mind 
which  could  prompt  such  a  thing." 

"  It's  a  common  enough  state  of  mind,"  said 
Lionel.  "  In  business  it's  common  enough.  Business 
men,  even  of  good  standing,  will  do  queer  things  when 
the  shoe  begins  to  pinch.     You  may  say  what  you  like 


246  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

about  war.  Business  is  the  real  curse  of  a  nation. 
Business,  and  the  business  brain,  and,  oh,  my  God,  the 
business  man!     Swine.     Patted,  vulpine  swine." 

"  Well,"  said  Eoger.  "  It  is  very  important  not 
to  take  these  things  into  the  mind,  even  to  condemn 
them." 

"  And  I  say  it  is  nothing  of  the  sort,"  said  Lionel. 
"  I  believe  in  strangling  ideas  as  I  believe  in  strangling 
people.  You  writers,  when  you  are  really  good  at  your 
job,  don't  condemn  half  enough." 

"  Tout  comprendre,  c'est  tout  pardonner." 

"  Intellectually,  not  morally.  Come  on.  We  are 
not  going  to  argue.  We  are  going  to  work.  We've  got 
to  bury  that  bearer.     Where's  the  spade  ?  " 

They  dug  a  grave  for  Rukwo,  and  buried  him,  and 
heaped  a  cairn  of  stones  from  the  wall  on  top  of  him. 
It  was  burning  midday  when  they  had  finished.  They 
had  leisure  then  to  think  again  of  the  loss  of  their 
atoxyl. 

"  We  may  not  have  any  at  all  ?  "  said  Roger.  Lionel 
produced  a  small  screw-top  bottle  from  his  pocket.  It 
had  once  contained  tabloids  of  anti-pyrin.  It  was  now 
about  half  full  of  a  white  powder. 

"  I've  a  few  doses  here,"  he  said.  He  looked  at  it 
carefully.  "  With  luck,"  he  said,  "  we  could  cure  two 
or  three  cases  with  this." 

"  But  suppose  you.  have  a  relapse  yourself,  Lionel  ? 
You  must  keep  some,  in  case  you  should  relapse." 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  247 

"  I  shan't  relapse,"  he  said  carelessly.  "  Relapses 
aren't  common." 

"  But  you  might.  And  you  are  more  important  than 
a  village-full  of  negroes.  More  important  than  all  the 
blacks  put  together  and  multiplied  by  ten." 

"  I  don't  see  it.  Look  here.  I  tell  you  one  thing 
which  is  pretty  plain  to  me.  We've  got  to  set  to  work 
to  find  an  anti-toxin.  First,  though,  we'll  go  down  and 
grope  in  the  mud  for  anything  which  may  be  left.  I 
don't  give  up  hope  of  finding  some  atoxyl  even  now." 

They  told  each  other  as  they  went  that  they  didn't 
expect  to  find  an^-thing.  Really  their  hearts  beat  high 
with  expectation.  They  were  sure  of  finding  what  they 
sought. 

They  went  down  to  the  mud  so  sure  that  their  dis- 
appointment almost  unmanned  them.  Eor  they  were 
disappointed.  An  hour  of  broiling  work  only  added 
two  cartridges  to  their  store.  Out  in  the  river,  caught 
in  a  snag  with  other  drift,  they  saw  a  floating  packing- 
case,  marked  with  a  blue  stencil.  By  the  manner  of  its 
floating  they  judged  it  to  be  empty,  or  nearly  empty. 
It  had  probably  floated  off  shortly  after  being  opened. 
It  had  been  caught  in  a  snag.  It  had  then  ducked  and 
sidled  to  get  away.  Lastly,  it  had  turned  upside  down 
and  emptied  its  contents  into  the  river.  So  they 
judged  the  tragedy,  viewing  the  victim  through  their 
glasses,  from  a  distance  of  a  hundred  yards. 

"  That  settles  it,  I  think,"  said  Lionel.     A  projecting 


248  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

snout  rose  at  the  box,  tilting  it  over.  It  fell  back,  lip- 
ping under,  so  that  it  filled.  In  another  instant  it  was 
gone  from  sight.  The  glasses  showed  a  slight  swirl  in 
the  water.  The  swirl  passed  at  once,  under  the  drive 
of  the  spate.     Their  last  hope  of  atoxyl  w^as  at  an  end. 

"  Well,"  said  Eoger  hopelessly.  "  It's  as  well  to 
know  the  worst.  The  box  was  empty,  don't  you 
think?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Lionel.     "  I  couldn't  be  sure." 

"  We  might  find  some  things  in  the  water  when  the 
river  sinks  a  little  further,"  said  Eoger,  without  much 
conviction.  "  It'll  be  drying  up  very  soon  now.  Then 
we  shall  find  whatever  is  in  it." 

Lionel  sat  down  despondently,  resting  his  chin  on  one 
hand.  He  was  letting  his  disappointment  work  itself 
off  silently.  His  heart  had  been  set  so  long  on  this 
first  great  medical  field-day  that  he  could  not  look 
Roger  in  the  face.  The  loss  of  the  atoxyl  was  less  hard 
to  bear  than  the  loss  of  all  the  interesting  cases  over 
which  he  would  have  been  bending  at  that  minute  had 
this  ghastly  thing  not  happened.  And,  being  an  old 
campaigner,  and  therefore  forethoughtful,  it  was  bitter 
to  him  to  find  himself  thwarted  unexpectedly  by  a  trick 
so  simple.  He  had  thought  that  he  had  guarded  against 
all  the  known  dodges.  He  had  been  on  his  guard  all 
through.  In  London  he  had  sampled  the  food,  the 
clothes,  the  cartridges,  rejecting  everything  which 
seemed  even  faulty.     He  had  been  surprised   at  his 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  249 

own  strictness.  All  the  way  up  from  the  coast  be  had 
watched  his  stores  so  jealously  that  he  had  thought  him- 
self safe.  lie  had  been  vain  of  his  success.  lie  bad 
never  lost  so  little  in  any  previous  expedition.  ITow 
an  attack  of  fever,  a  storm,  and  a  bearer's  sudden  death 
had  let  him  in  for  this.  He  was  not  forgetting  the 
chemist's  share.  He  cursed  himself  for  having  trusted 
the  chemist.  Then  he  decided  that  it  was  not  the 
chemist.  The  fraud  had  been  committed  in  Africa. 
He  had  not  been  careful  enough.  He  himself  was  to 
blame.  "  Guns  and  grub  I  could  understand,"  he 
cried.  "  But  for  them  to  take  drugs !  Who  would 
have  thought  of  their  taking  drugs  ?  Why  didn't  I  see 
that  Africa  is  getting  civilised  ?  Roger,  I  want  to  kill 
somebody." 

"  It's  my  turn  to  lecture  now,"  said  Eoger.  "  We'll 
carry  these  things  up  to  camp.  I've  an  idea  about 
camp." 

"  What  is  your  idea  ?  " 

"  To  build  a  house  out  of  the  loose  stones  of  the  wall. 
We  could  use  the  wall  itself  for  one  wall,  build  up  three 
others  and  roof  it  with  the  tent.  It  would  be  better 
than  having  another  night  like  last  night." 

"  It  might  be  done,"  said  Lionel,  mechanically  filling 
his  pockets  with  cartridges.  "  But  I  don't  know  what 
good  we're  going  to  do  here  if  we  haven't  any  atoxyl.  I 
wish  I  knew  who  it  was.  If  ever  I  touch  at  Kwasi 
Bembo  again,  I'll  have  that  atoxyl  out  of  his  liver." 


250  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

They  passed  a  broiling  afternoon  carrying  their  gear 
to  camp.  They  became  irritable  at  about  four  o'clock. 
After  that  time  they  worked  apart,  avoiding  each  other. 
At  six  Roger  made  tea,  over  which  they  made  friends. 
At  seven  they  set  about  the  building  of  their  house. 
They  laboured  by  moonlight  far  into  the  night,  laying 
the  mortarless  stones  together.  "When  they  knocked  off 
for  bed  it  was  nearly  midnight,  and  the  house  was  far 
from  perfect.  They  could  not  do  more  to  it.  They 
were  too  tired.  After  flogging  their  blankets  against 
the  walls  to  get  rid  of  mud  and  "  bichos,"  they  turned 
in,  bone-weary,  and  slept  the  stupid  sleep  of  sailors  for 
nearly  eleven  hours. 

They  finished  their  house  in  the  afternoon.  It  was 
not  a  very  good  house,  but  they  judged  that  it  would  be 
safer  and  drier  than  their  tent  had  proved.  After  they 
had  finished  it,  they  felt  it  to  be  structurally  weak. 
They  went  at  it  again.  They  strengthened  the  roof 
with  saplings,  and  laid  great  stones  upon  the  edges  of 
the  canvas  cover,  so  that  it  should  not  blow  from  its 
place.  With  great  cunning  Roger  arranged  an  outer 
roof  of  a  rough  thatch  which  he  himself  made  from  the 
osiers  used  by  the  natives.  He  thought  that  a  double 
roof  would  be  cooler.  He  explained  to  Lionel  an  am- 
bitious scheme  for  a  thatched  verandah ;  but  this  had 
to  be  abandoned  from  want  of  encouragement.  In- 
side, the  house  was  about  twelve  feet  square.  Wlien 
the  two  beds,  the  table,  the  chairs,  and  the  boxes  were 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  251 

all  within  doors,  it  seemed  very  cramped  and  poky. 
They  were  in  some  doubt  about  a  name  for  it.  Lionel 
was  for  "  Phoenician  Villa,"  Koger  for  "  The  Laurels  " 
or  "  Oak  Drive."  Finally  they  decided  on  "  Portobe," 
which  they  smeared  over  the  door  in  blacking.  They 
had  not  thought  much  of  Portobe  on  their  way  up  coun- 
try. Portobe.  Eoger  going  out  that  night,  after  sup- 
per, to  wash  the  plates  in  a  bucket,  sat  by  the  fire  for 
many  minutes,  "  thinking  long  "  about  Portobe.  Some- 
thing made  him  turn  his  head,  and  look  out  into  the 
night  north-north-westward, 

for  there  dwelt  love,  and  all  love's  loving  parts, 
And  all  the  friends. 

It  was  a  dim  expanse,  mothlike  and  silver  in  the  moon- 
light, reaching  on  in  forest  and  river  to  the  desert.  To 
reach  Portobe  he  would  have  to  go  beyond  the  desert, 
over  the  sea,  over  Spain,  over  France.  He  paused. 
He  was  not  sure  whether  France  would  be  in  the  direct 
line.  If  it  were  not,  then  there  would  only  be  the  sea 
to  cross,  past  Land's  End,  past  Carnsore,  past  Braichy, 
past  all  the  headlands.  Then  on  to  the  Waters  of 
Moyle,  which  never  cease  to  call  to  the  heart  who  hears 
them.  He  remembered  the  poem  of  the  calling  of  the 
Waters  of  Moyle.  He  knew  it  by  heart.  It  was  a 
true  poem.  The  vastness  and  silence  of  the  night  were 
over  him.  The  great  stars  burned  out  above.  They 
seemed  to  wheel  and  deploy  above  him,  rank  upon  rank. 


252  MULTITUDE  A:N"D  SOLITUDE 

helm  on  gleaming  helm,  an  army,  a  power.  There  were 
no  birds,  no  noise  of  beasts,  no  lights.  Only  the  earth, 
strange  in  the  moon;  the  great  continent,  measureless 
in  her  excess.  She  was  all  savage,  all  untamed,  a  black 
and  cruel  continent,  a  lustful  old  queen,  smeared  with 
bloody  oils.  She  frightened  him.  He  thought  of  one 
night  at  Portobe  three  years  before,  when  he  had  come 
out  "  to  look  at  the  night "  with  Ottalie.  He  could 
still  see  some  of  the  stars  seen  then.  He  could  still,  in 
the  sharpened  fancy  of  the  home-sick,  smell  the  spray 
of  honeysuckle  which  had  gone  trailing  and  trailing, 
drenching  wet,  across  the  little-used  iron  gate  which  led 
to  the  beach.  He  longed  to  be  going  up  the  beach,  up 
the  loaning  overhung  with  old  willows,  as  he  had  gone 
that  night  with  Ottalie.  He  longed  to  be  going  through 
the  little  town,  past  the  fruitman's,  past  the  butcher's, 
past  the  R.I.C.  barracks,  to  the  little  churchyard  by 
the  stream.  Ottalie  lay  there.  Here  he  was  in  Africa, 
trying  to  do  something  for  Ottalie's  sake.  He  drew 
in  his  breath  sharply.  It  was  all  useless.  It  was  not 
going  to  be  done.  The  atoxyl  was  lost.  They  might 
just  as  well  have  stayed  in  England.  He  sighed.  To 
do  something  very  difficult,  which  would  tax  all  his  pow- 
ers, that  was  his  task.  When  that  was  done  he  would 
feel  that  he  had  won  his  bride.  A  strange,  choking 
voice  came  from  the  house. 

"  Roger !     Roger !     Come    in.     Where    are   you  ? " 
Lionel  had  been  asleep  in  his  chair. 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  253 

"  What  is  it  ?     What  is  it  ?  "  said  Koffer. 

"  :N"otliing.  Nothing,"  said  Lionel.  "  I  dreamed  I 
was  fast  by  the  leg.  You  don't  know  how  beastly  it 
was." ' 


A  cold  shivering,  methinks. 

Every  Man  out  of  his  Humour. 
What  would  you  minister  upon  the  sudden? 

Monsieur  Thomas. 

THE  next  day  they  walked  to  the  village,  pre- 
pared for  an  unpleasant  morning.  They 
buried  seven  bodies  and  burned  eleven  huts. 
Several  times,  during  the  day,  they  noticed  tsetse  at 
rest  on  the  framework  of  the  huts. 

"  They  have  followed  people  up  from  the  water," 
said  Lionel.  "  They  don't  attack  us,  because  we  are 
wearing  white  duck.     They  don't  like  white." 

"  Flies  have  an  uncanny  knowledge,"  said  Koger. 
"  How  do  they  get  their  knowledge  ?  Is  it  mere  in- 
herited instinct  ?  I  notice  that  they  always  attack  in 
the  least  protected  spots.  How  do  they  know  that  a 
man  cannot  easily  drive  them  from  between  his  shoul- 
ders ?  They  do  know.  I  notice  they  nearly  always  at- 
tack between  the  shoulders." 

"  Yes.  And  dogs  on  the  head,  cattle  on  the  shoul- 
ders, and  horses  on  the  belly  and  forelegs.     They're 

subtle  little  devils." 

254 


MULTITUDE  AXD  SOLITUDE  255 

"  And  they  have  apparently  no  place  in  the  scheme 
of  the  world,  except  to  transplant  the  trypanosome  from 
where  he  is  harmless  to  where  he  is  deadly." 

"  Lots  of  men  are  like  that/'  said  Lionel.  "  You  can 
go  along  any  London  street  and  see  thousands  of  them 
outside  those  disgusting  pot-houses.  Men  with  no  place 
in  the  scheme  of  the  world,  except  to  transplant  intoxi- 
cants from  the  casks,  where  they  are  harmless,  to  their 
ins  ides,  where  they  hecome  deadly,  both  to  themselves 
and  to  societ3\  Any  self-respecting  State  would  drown 
the  brutes  in  their  o^^^l  beer.  Yet  the  brutes  don't  get 
drowned.  And  as  they  do  not,  there  must  be  a  scien- 
tific reason.  Either  the  State  must  be  so  rotten  that 
the  germs  are  neutralised  by  other  germs,  or  the  germs 
must  have  some  dim  sort  of  efficiency  for  life,  just  as  the 
tsetses  have.  They  have  the  tenacity  of  the  very  low 
organism.  It  is  one  of  the  mysteries  of  life  to  me  that 
a  man  tends  to  lose  that  tenacity  and  efficiency  for  life 
as  soon  as  he  becomes  sufficiently  subtle  and  fine  to  be 
really  worth  having  in  the  world.  I  like  Shakespeare 
because  he  is  one  of  the  very  few  men  who  realise  that, 
lie  is  harping  on  it  again  and  again.  He  is  at  it  in 
Ilamlei,  in  RicJiard  the  Second,  in  Brutus,  Othello. 
Oh,  in  lots  of  the  plays,  in  the  minor  characters,  too, 
like  Malvolio;  even  in  Aguecheek.  And  people  call 
that  disgusting,  beefy  brute,  Prince  Henry,  '  Shake- 
speare's one  hero,'  a  '  vision  of  ideal  English  manhood.' 
Shakespeare's  one  hero!     Shakespeare  wTote  him  with 


256  MULTITUDE  A:N'D  SOLITUDE 

his  tongue  in  his  cheek,  and  used  an  ounce  of  civet  after- 
wards." 

They  turned  again  to  their  work.  After  changing 
their  clothes,  bathing  antisepticallj,  and  anointing  their 
hands  with  corrosive  sublimate  solution  and  alcohol, 
they  began  solemnly  to  distil  some  water  for  their  tiny 
store  of  atoxyl. 

"  Lionel,"  said  Roger,  "  we've  got  enough  drug  to 
cure  two,  or  perhaps  three  of  these  people.  We  ought 
not  to  use  it  all.  We  are  away  in  the  wilds  here.  Save 
one  dose  at  least  for  yourself  in  case  you  should  get  a 
relapse.  You  know  how  very  virulent  a  relapsed  case 
is." 

"  I  know,"  said  Lionel.  "  But  that  is  part  of  the 
day's  work.  Our  only  chance  of  doing  good  here  is  to 
find  an  anti-toxin.     I  want  this  spare  atoxyl  for  that." 

"  But,"  said  Roger,  "  you  cannot  make  an  effective 
serum  from  the  blood  of  a  man  in  whom  atoxyl  is  at 
work.  Surely  atoxyl  only  stimulates  the  phagoc}i;es  to 
eat  the  trypanosome." 

"  Quite  so,"  said  Lionel.  "  You're  a  serumite,  I'm 
not.  I  am  not  at  all  keen  on  the  use  of  serum  for  this 
complaint.  I  believe  that  the  cure  (if  there  is  one)  will 
be  got  by  injecting  the  patient  with  dead  tr^'panosomes 
or  very,  very  weak  ones.  I'm  going  to  make  a  special 
artificial  culture  of  trypanosomes  in  culture  tubes.  I 
shall  then  weaken  the  germs  with  atoxyl.  Wlien  they 
are  all  bloated  and  paralysed,  I  shall  inject  them.     I 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  257 

believe  that  that  injection,  or  the  injection  of  quite  dead 
trypanosomes,  will  have  permanent  good  effects." 

"  And  I,"  rejoined  Eoger,  "  believe  that  your  meth- 
ods will  be  useless.  I  believe  that  the  cure  (if  there  be 
a  cure)  will  be  obtained  by  the  use  of  sera  obtained  from 
naturally  or  artificially  immunised  animals." 

"  That's  just  the  taking  kind  of  fairy  story  you  would 
believe.     You're  a  sentimentalist." 

"Very  well.  But  listen.  It  is  said  that  when  the 
dogs  of  the  bushmen  are  reared  entirely  on  the  meat  of 
immune  game,  they  become  immune  like  the  game ;  but 
that  if  they  are  not  used  to  wild  meat  they  develop 
nagana  from  eating  it  casually." 

"  I  don't  believe  the  first  part  of  that,"  said  Lionel. 
"  It  sounds  too  like  a  yarn.  The  dogs  which  are  reared 
entirely  on  wild  game  are  probably  naturally  immune 
native  dogs,  bred  originally  from  some  wild  strain,  like 
the  wild  hunting-dogs." 

"  But  there  is  no  doubt  that  wild  game,  like  wilde- 
beests, koodoos,  hyenas,  and  quaggas,  are  immune  ?  " 

"  None  whatever." 

"  Then  could  not  some  preparation  be  made  from  the 
blood  of  the  wild  game  ?  Surely  one  could  extract  the 
immunising  principle  from  the  immune  creature,  and 
use  that  as  a  serum  ?  " 

"  We  don't  even  know  what  the  ^  immunising  prin- 
ciple '  may  be ;  so  how  can  we  extract  it  ?  " 

"  Well,  then.     Use  the  blood  serum  by  itself," 


258  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

"  But,  my  dear  man,  the  blood  of  these  beasts  is  the 
favourite  haunt  of  the  trypanosome." 

They  argued  it  to  and  fro  with  the  pertinacity 
of  enthusiasts  improperly  equipped  with  knowledge. 
Eoger  fought  for  his  "  fairy  story,"  Lionel  for  his  dead 
and  dying  cultures.  At  last  Lionel  finished  the  prepa- 
ration of  the  mixture. 

"  Look  here,"  he  said.  "  This  atoxyl,  you  say,  is  to 
be  kept?  Well.  If  I  get  a  relapse  before  it  is  used, 
you  will  please  remember  that  it  is  to  be  used  to  para- 
lyse artificially-raised  trypanosomes,  which  will  after- 
wards be  injected  into  me.  You  will  try  none  of  your 
sera  on  me,  my  friend.  If  you  like  to  go  getting  sera 
from  dying,  dirty,  anthraxy  wild  beasts,  do  so;  but 
don't  put  any  of  the  poison,  so  got,  into  me.  I  see  you 
so  plainly  strangling  a  deer  in  a  mud-wallow,  and  draw- 
ing off  the  blood  into  a  methylated  spirits  can.  Here's 
the  mixture  ready.  And  now  that  our  water  of  life  is 
ready  for  use,  comes  the  great  question :  Which  of  all 
these  sleepers  is  to  live  ?  Here  are  twenty-nine  men, 
women,  and  children.  They  are  all  condemned  to  die 
within  a  few  weeks.  'Now  then,  Roger.  You  are  a 
writer,  that  is  to  say  a  law-giver,  a  disposer  and  settler 
of  moral  issues.  Which  of  these  is  to  live?  We  can 
say  thumbs  down  to  any  we  choose.  If  we  live  to  be  a 
hundred  we  shall  probably  never  have  to  make  such  a 
solemn  choice  again." 

"  It  isn't  certain  life,"   said  Eoger,   hesitating  for 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  259 

a  moment,  staggered  by  the  responsibility.  "  Atoxyl 
isn't  a  certain  cure,  even  of  moderate  cases." 

"  It's  a  practically  certain  cure  if  the  patient  is  all 
right  in  other  ways;  that  is,  of  course,  if  the  case  has 
not  gone  too  far." 

"  What  is  the  percentage  of  deaths  ?  "  said  Roger. 

"With  atoxyl?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Eight  per  cent,  for  slight  cases,  and  twenty-two  per 
cent,  for  bad  ones.  Without  atoxyl,  it's  a  certain  hun- 
dred per  cent." 

"  I  see." 

"  It's  a  good  drug." 

"  Yes,"  said  Roger.  "  It's  a  good  drug.  But  look 
at  them,  Lionel.     To  stand  here  and  choose  them  out." 

"  We  are  doing  now  what  the  scientist  will  one  day 
do  for  every  human  race,"  said  Lionel.  "  We  are 
choosing  for  the  future.  As  it  happens  we  are  choosing 
for  the  future  of  a  fraction  of  a  wretched  little  African 
tribe.  The  scientist  will  one  day  choose,  just  as  finally, 
for  the  future  of  man.  I  didn't  think  you'd  baulk, 
Roger.  This  is  the  beginning  of  the  golden  age.  '  The 
golden  age  begins  anew.'  Here  are  the  wise  men  choos- 
ing who  are  to  inherit  the  earth." 

A  sleepy  negro  came  unsteadily  from  a  hut.  He 
walked,  as  though  not  quite  in  control  of  his  actions, 
towards  the  wise  men.  He  was  a  fine,  supple  creature, 
dressed  in  crocodile's  teeth.     Parts  of  him  shone  with 


260  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

an  anointment  of  oil.  He  drew  up,  dully  staring. 
His  jaw  was  hanging.  Flies  settled  on  bis  body.  A 
tsetse  with  fierce,  dancing  flight,  flew  round  him,  and 
settled  on  bis  shoulders.  He  stood  vacantly,  gazing  at 
the  wise  men.  His  mind  could  not  be  sure  of  anything ; 
but  there  was  something  which  he  wanted  to  say ;  some- 
thing which  had  to  be  said.  He  waited,  vacantly,  for 
the  message  to  come  back  to  him,  and  then  drove  slowly 
forward  again,  and  again  stopped.  His  lips  mumbled 
something.  His  eyes  drooped.  One  trembling  hand 
weakly  groped  in  the  air  for  support.  It  rested  on  a 
hut.  He  slowly  and  very  wearily  collapsed  upon  the 
hut,  and  sat  down.  His  head  nodded  and  nodded. 
Another  tsetse  flew  do\\ai.  Roger  noticed  that  the  man 
was  cicatrised  about  the  body  with  old  scars.  He  had 
been  a  warrior.  He  had  lived  the  savage  life  to  the 
full.  He  had  killed.  He  had  rushed  screaming  to 
death,  under  his  tossing  Colobus  plumes,  first  of  his 
tribe  to  stab,  before  the  shields  rattled  on  each  other. 
He  had  been  lithe,  swift,  and  bloody  as  the  panther. 
Now  he  was  this  trembling,  fumbling  thing,  a  log,  a 
driveller,  a  perch  for  flies. 

"  Lionel,"  said  Roger,  "  it  will  be  awful  if  we  lose 
our  cases." 

"  Why  ?     They  will  die  in  any  case." 

"  But  after  choosing  them  like  this.  If  we  give  them 
their  chance,  and  they  lose  the  chance.  I  should  feel 
that  perhaps  one  of  the  others  might  have  lived," 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  261 

"  We  shall  choose  carefully.  We  can  do  no  more 
than  that.  There's  that  hideous  old  crone  coming  out 
again.  Poor  old  thing.  I  dare  say  she  has  seen  more 
of  the  world  than  either  of  us.  She  may  be  a  king's 
wife  and  the  mother  of  kings.  How  merciless  these 
savages  are  to  the  old !  " 

"  They're  like  children.  Children  have  no  mercy  on 
the  old." 

"  I  wonder  what  good  life  is  to  her  ?  " 

"  I  dare  say  she  remembers  the  good  days.  She  can't 
feel  very  much." 

"  'No"  said  Lionel.  "  But  I  notice  that  old  people 
feel  intensely.  They  don't  feel  much.  They  may  feel 
only  one  single  thing  in  all  the  world;  but  they  feel 
about  that  with  all  their  strength.  It's  perfectly 
ghastly  how  they  feel.  We  are  all  islands  apart.  We 
do  not  know  each  other.  We  cannot  know  that  woman's 
mind,  nor  have  we  any  data  by  which  we  can  imagine 
it.  That  old  animal  may  be  like  Blake's  bird :  '  A 
whole  world  of  delight  closed  to  your  senses  five.'  " 

"  Very  well.  Would  you  cure  her  ?  She's  not  in- 
fected as  it  happens ;  but  would  you,  if  she  were  ?  " 

"  No.  She  has  had  her  life.  I  wonder,  by  the  way, 
if  extreme  old  age  is  immune  from  sleeping  sickness. 
I  dare  say  it  is.  But  old  age  is  not  common  in  savage 
societies.  I  wish  I  knew  that  old  woman's  story.  She 
has  seen  a  lot,  Roger.  That  is  a  wonderful  face.  Now 
we  must  choose.     Shall  we  choose  a  woman  ?  " 


262  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

"  "No.  'Not  a  woman.  We  must  think  of  the  crea- 
ture's future.  What  would  become  of  a  woman  left 
alone  here  ?  Even  if  she  followed  up  her  tribe,  they 
would  probably  not  admit  her.  You  know  that  these 
people  do  not  believe  in  the  possibility  of  a  cure  for 
sleeping  sickness.  They  would  only  drive  her  out,  or 
kill  her." 

"  Yes,  or  let  her  drift  among  white  men.  No.  Not 
a  woman.  Not  an  old  man,  I  say.  The  old  have  had 
their  lives.  Besides,  the  life  of  an  old  savage  is  gen- 
erally wretched.  There  would  be  nothing  for  him  to 
do,  either  here  or  anywhere  else.  So  we  won't  have  an 
old  man." 

"  Nor  a  warrior,"  said  Roger. 

"  I'm  not  sure  about  a  warrior,"  said  Lionel.  "  He 
would  be  able  to  fend  for  himself.  He  would  be  worth 
taking  in  by  some  other  tribe  short  of  males.  There 
are  points  to  the  warrior." 

"  He  would  probably  rise  up  one  night  and  jab  us 
with  a  shovel-headed  spear." 

"And  then  we  should  shoot  him.  Yes,  that  might 
happen.     That  narrows  it  down  to  the  boys." 

They  looked  at  the  boys,  noting  their  teeth,  skulls, 
and  physiognomies.  Several  shewed  signs  of  con- 
genital malignant  disease;  others  were  brutish  and 
loutish  looking;  but  they  were,  on  the  whole,  a  much 
nicer-looking  lot  than  the  boys  who  sell  papers  in  Lon- 


MULTITUDE  A'NB  SOLITUDE  263 

don.  Tliey  narrowed  the  cboice  to  four.  One  of  them 
shewed  signs  of  pneumonia.  He  was  rejected.  The 
others  were  examined  carefully.  Their  prefrontal 
areas  were  measured.  They  were  sounded  and  felt  and 
summed  up.  The  matter  w^as  doubtful  for  a  time. 
The  lad  with  the  best  head  was  more  drowsy  than  the 
other  two.  The  question  arose,  should  the  doubtful 
cure  of  a  genius  be  preferred  to  the  less  doubtful  cure 
of  a  dunce.  "  E'ature  has  made  an  effort  for  this  one," 
said  Lionel,  "  at  the  expense  of  the  type.  This  fellow 
has  got  a  better  head  than  the  others,  but  he  is  not  quite 
so  fine  a  specimen.  That  means  that  he  will  be  less 
happy.  IN'ature  would  probably  prefer  the  other  fel- 
lows." 

"  We  have  nothing  to  do  with  ISTature,"  said  Koger. 
"  "We  are  out  to  fight  her  wherever  we  can  find  her. 
!N"ature  is  a  collection  of  vegetables,  many  of  them  hu- 
man. Let  us  thwart  her.  ITature's  mind  is  the  mind 
of  the  flock  of  sheep.  ISTature's  order  is  the  order  of  the 
primeval  swamp.  iN'ever  mind  what  she  w^ould  prefer. 
Sacrifice  both  the  dunces,  and  let  the  other  have  a 
double  chance.  I  know  the  dunce-mind,  or  '  natural ' 
mind,  only  too  well.  It  would  sacrifice  any  original 
mind,  and  brutally,  like  the  beast  it  is,  rather  than  see 
its  doltish  sheep-pen  rules  infringed." 

"  Genius  is  excess,"  said  Lionel.  "  Genius  in  a 
savage  means  an  excess  of  savagery.     This  fellow  may 


264  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

be  a  most  turbulent,  bloodthirsty  ruffian.  The  others, 
though  they  will  probably  be  bloodthirsty  ruffians,  may 
not  be  so  turbulent." 

"  If  he  be  turbulent,"  said  Eoger,  "  it  will  be  in  a 
more  intellectual  manner  than  is  usual  with  his  tribe. 
Turbulence  in  a  savage  is  a  sign  of  life.  It  is  only  in 
a  civilised  man  that  it  is  a  sign  of  failure." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Lionel.  "  We  will  have  the 
genius.  He  may  disappoint  us.  I  think  he  is  the  best 
type  here.  "Who  is  to  be  the  other  ?  What  do  you  say 
to  that  nice-looking  boy,  whom  we  spun  some  time  ago 
for  itch  ?     I  like  that  lad's  face." 

"  You  think  he  would  be  a  good  one  to  save  ?  " 

"  Well,  itch  apart,  he  looked  a  nice  lad.  He  would 
be  exceptional,  socially,  just  as  the  other  would  be  ex- 
ceptional intellectually.  He  would  be  to  some  extent 
unnatural,  which  is  what  you  seem  to  want.  Why  are 
you  so  down  on  the  natural  ?  " 

"  I've  heard  some  old  women  of  both  sexes  praising 
the  natural,  ever  since  I  was  a  child.  The  natural. 
The  born  natural.  The  undeveloped  sheep  in  us,  which 
makes  common  head  to  butt  the  wolf-scarer." 

"  We'll  give  them  a  dose  to-day  and  a  dose  to-morrow, 
and  a  last  dose  in  two  and  a  half  weeks'  time,"  said 
Lionel.  "  And  then  they'll  either  be  fit  to  butt  any- 
thing in  the  wide  world,  or  they'll  be  on  their  way  to 
Marumba." 

"  The   genius   first,"   said   Roger,   bringing  up  the 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  265 

patient.  The  needle  was  sterilised.  A  little  prick  be- 
tween the  shoulderbladcs  drove  the  dose  home.  The 
other  boy  followed.     Lionel  eyed  them  carefully. 

"  They  must  come  out  of  here,  now,"  he  said. 
"  They  must  live  with  ns  for  to-night.  We  can't  do 
more  now.  "We've  done  enough  for  one  day.  To-mor- 
row we  must  rig  them  up  a  shanty  up  on  the  hill. 
They'll  be  pretty  well  by  to-morrow  night." 

They  were  doing  finely  by  the  next  night,  a3  Lionel 
had  foretold.  Their  second  dose  was  followed  up  with 
a  preparation  of  mercury,  which  the  wise  men  trusted 
to  complete  the  cure.  The  patients  were  pretty  well. 
But  the  work  and  excitement  of  settling  them  into 
quarters  near  "  Portobe "  made  the  doctors  very  far 
from  pretty  well.  Though  the  sick-quarters  were  little 
more  than  a  roofed-in  wind-screen  of  tarpaulin,  the 
strain  of  making  it  was  too  much  for  two  over-wrought 
Europeans,  not  yet  used  to  the  heat.  Lionel,  complain- 
ing peevishly  of  headache,  knocked  off  work  before  tea. 
Roger,  feeling  the  boisterous  good  spirits  which  so  often 
precede  a  fit  of  recurrent  fever,  helped  Lionel  into  bed, 
and  cheerfully  did  the  sick  man's  share  of  building. 
After  this  he  gave  the  two  patients  their  supper  of  bis- 
cuit and  bully  beef  (which  they  ate  with  very  good  ap- 
petites), and,  when  they  had  eaten,  put  them  to  bed  un- 
der their  wind-screen.  As  he  worked,  he  hoped  fer- 
vently that  Lionel  was  not  going  to  be  ill  again.  He 
had  been  peevish,  with  a  slight,  irritable  fever  all  the 


266  MULTITUDE  A:N'D  SOLITUDE 

way  up  the  river  from  Malakoto.  If  be  fell  ill  again 
now,  all  the  work  would  be  delayed.  Roger  wanted  to 
get  to  work.  All  their  plans  had  been  upset  by  the 
bearers'  desertion.  Any  further  upsetting  of  plans 
might  ruin  the  expedition.  The  days  were  passing. 
Every  day  brought  those  poor  drowsy  devils  in  the 
village  nearer  to  their  deaths.  Soon  they  would  be  too 
ill  to  cure.  He  wanted  Lionel  well  and  strong,  work- 
ing beside  him  towards  the  discovery  of  a  serum.  That 
was  the  crying  need.  With  Lionel  ill,  he  could  do 
nothing,  or  nearly  nothing.  He  had  so  little  scientific 
knowledge.  And  besides  that,  he  would  have  Lionel 
to  watch,  and  the  cleansing  and  feeding  of  all  those 
twenty-seven  sick.  He  did  not  see  how  things  were 
going  to  get  done. 

He  told  himself  that  things  would  have  to  get  done, 
and  that  he  would  have  to  do  them.  The  resolution 
cheered  him,  but  the  prospect  was  not  made  brighter  by 
his  discovery  soon  afterwards  that  Lionel's  temperature 
had  shot  up  with  a  sudden  leaping  bound  to  103°. 
That  frightened  him.  Lionel  was  not  going  to  be  ill,  he 
was  ill,  and  very  dangerously  ill  already.  His  tempera- 
ture had  risen  four  or  five  degrees  in  about  half  an  hour. 
The  discovery  gave  Roger  a  momentary  feeling  of  panic. 
With  a  fever  like  that,  Lionel  might  die,  and  if  Lionel 
died,  what  then  ?  He  would  be  there  alone,  alone  in  the 
wilds,  with  drowsed,  half-dead  savages.  He  would  be 
alone  there  with  death,  in  the  heart  of  a  continent. 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  267 

He  would  go  mad  there,  at  the  sight  of  his  own  shadow, 
like  the  Australian  in  the  cheerful  story.  But  for 
Lionel  to  die,  to  lose  Lionel,  the  friend  of  all  these  days, 
the  comrade  of  all  these  adventures,  that  was  the  deso- 
lating thought.  It  would  not  matter  much  what  hap- 
pened to  himself  if  Lionel  were  to  die. 

It  was  home  in  upon  him  that  Lionel's  life  would 
depend  on  his  exertions.  He  would  be  doctor,  nurse, 
and  chemist.  Let  him  look  to  it.  On  the  morrow, 
perhaps,  there  would  be  two  vigorous  natives  to  look  to 
the  sick  in  the  village.  Meanwhile,  there  was  the  night 
to  win  through ;  and  that  burning  temperature  to  lower. 

He  managed  to  administer  a  dose  of  quinine.  There 
was  nothing  more  that  he  could  do.  Crouching  down 
by  the  sick  man's  side  made  him  feel  queer.  He  re- 
membered that  he  had  left  neither  food  nor  water  in 
the  patients'  hut.  They  ought  to  have  food  by  them  in 
case  they  woke  hungry,  as  they  probably  would,  after 
their  long,  irregular  fast.  He  carried  them  some  bis- 
cuit, and  a  bucket  half  full  of  water.  They  were  sleep- 
ing heavily.  Nature  was  resting  in  them.  While  com- 
ing back  from  the  hut,  he  noticed  that  the  night  struck 
cold.  He  shivered.  His  teeth  began  to  chatter.  He 
felt  that  the  cold  had  stricken  to  his  liver.  He  wished 
that  he  had  not  gone  out.  Coming  into  the  house,  he 
felt  the  need  of  a  fire ;  but  he  did  not  dare  to  light  one, 
on  account  of  Lionel.  Lionel  lay  tossing  deliriously, 
babbling  the  halves  of  words.     Roger  gave  him  more 


268  MULTITUDE  A:N"D  SOLITUDE 

quinine,  and  took  a  strong  dose  himself.  There  was 
something  very  strange  about  the  quinine.  It  seemed 
to  come  to  his  mouth  from  a  hand  immensely  distant. 
There  was  a  long,  long  arm,  like  a  crooked  railway,  tied 
to  the  hand.  It  seemed  to  Roger  that  it  could  not  pos- 
sibly crook  itself  sufficiently  to  let  the  hand  reach  his 
mouth.  After  the  strangeness  of  the  hand  had  faded, 
he  felt  horribly  cold.  He  longed  to  have  fire  all  round 
him,  and  inside  him.  He  regarded  Lionel  stupidly. 
He  could  do  nothing  more.  He  would  lie  dow^i.  If 
Lionel  wanted  anything,  he  would  get  up  to  fetch  it. 
He  could  not  sit  up  with  Lionel.  He  was  in  for  a 
fever.  He  got  into  his  bed,  and  heaped  the  blankets 
round  him,  trembling.  Almost  at  once  the  real  world 
began  to  blur  and  change.  It  was  still  the  real  world, 
but  he  was  seeing  much  in  it  which  he  had  not  sus- 
pected. Many  queer  things  were  happening  before  his 
eyes*.  He  lay  shuddering,  with  chattering  teeth,  listen- 
ing, as  he  thought,  to  the  noise  made  by  the  world  as  it 
revolved.  It  was  a  crashing,  booming,  resolute  noise, 
which  droned  down  and  anon  piped  up  high.  It  went 
on  and  on. 

In  the  middle  of  all  the  noise  he  had  the  strange 
fancy  that  his  body  was  not  in  bed  at  all,  but  poised  in 
air.  His  bed  lay  somewhere  below  him.  Sitting  up 
he  could  see  part  of  it,  infinitely  distant,  below  his  out- 
stretched feet.  The  ceiling  was  swelling  and  swelling 
just  above  him.     It  seemed  as  vast  as  heaven.     All  the 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  269 

lime  it  swelled  he  seemed  to  shrink.  He  was  lying 
chained  somewhere,  while  his  body  was  shrinking  to 
the  vanishing  point.  He  could  feel  himself  dwindling, 
while  the  blackness  above  grew  vaster.  He  heard  some- 
thing far  below  him  —  or  was  it  at  his  side  ?  —  some- 
thing or  somebody  speaking  very  rapidly.  He  tried  to 
call  oat  to  Lionel,  but  all  that  he  could  say  was  some- 
thing about  an  oyster  tree.  There  was  a  great  deal  of 
chattering.  Somebody  was  trying  to  get  in,  or  some- 
body was  trying  to  get  out.  Something  or  somebody 
was  in  great  danger,  and,  do  what  he  could,  he  could 
not  help  growing  smaller,  smaller,  smaller.  At  last  the 
blackness  fell  in  upon  his  littleness  and  blotted  it  out. 

He  awoke  in  the  early  morning,  feeling  as  though  his 
bones  had  been  taken  out.  His  mouth  had  a  taste  as 
though  broAvn  paper  had  been  burnt  in  it.  Wafts  of 
foul  smell  passed  over  him  as  each  fresh  gust  blew  in 
at  the  doorway.  Something  was  the  matter  with  his 
e^-es.  He  had  an  obscurity  of  vision.  He  could  not 
see  properly.  Things  changed  and  merged  into  each 
other.  He  lifted  a  hand  to  brush  away  the  distorting 
film.  He  was  thirsty.  He  was  too  weak  to  define 
more  clearly  what  he  wanted ;  it  was  not  water ;  it  was 
not  food ;  it  was  not  odoiTr ;  but  a  bitter,  pungent,  astrin- 
gent something  which  would  be  all  three  to  him.  He 
wanted  something  which  would  cleanse  his  mouth,  sup- 
plant this  foulness  in  his  nostrils,  and  nerve  the  jelly 
of  his  marrow.     Weakly  desiring  this  potion,  he  fell 


270  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

asleep  from  exhaustion.  He  woke  much  refreshed  after 
a  sleep  of  ahout  eight  hours. 

When  he  looked  about  him,  he  saw  that  Lionel  was 
still  unconscious.  He  was  lying  there  uneasily,  mut- 
tering and  restless,  wdth  a  much-flushed  face.  His 
hands  were  plucking  and  scratching  at  his  chest. 
There  was  that  about  him  which  suggested  high  fever. 
Eoger  hurriedly  brought  a  thermometer  and  took  the 
sick  man's  temperature.  It  had  sunk  to  less  than  100°. 
He  thrust  aside  the  pyjama  coat,  and  felt  the  heart  with 
his  finger.  The  pulse  was  beating  with  something  of 
the  batting  motion  of  a  guttering  electric  light.  The 
chest  was  inflamed,  with  a  slight  reddish  rash. 

Roger  sat  do^\^l  upon  his  bed  and  took  a  few  deep 
breaths  to  steady  himself.  Afterwards  he  remembered 
telling  himself  in  a  loud,  clear  voice  that  he  would  have 
to  go  into  this  with  a  clear  head,  a  very  clear  head. 
He  swilled  his  head  with  water  from  the  bucket.  When 
he  felt  competent  he  remembered  another  and  more  cer- 
tain symptom.  He  advanced  to  the  sick  man  and 
looked  anxiously  at  his  throat  glands.  He  had  braced 
himself  for  the  shock;  but  it  was  none  the  less  severe 
when  it  came.  The  glands  were  visibly  swollen. 
They  were  also  very  tender  to  the  touch.  Lionel  had 
relapsed.  He  was  suffering  from  trypanosomiasis. 
The  disease  was  on  him. 

Roger  passed  the  next  few  minutes  biting  his  lips. 
From  time  to  time  he  went  back  to  the  bed  to  look  at 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  271 

the  well-known  symptoms.  He  was  sure,  only  too  sure, 
but  each  time  he  went  he  prayed  to  God  that  he  might 
be  mistaken.  He  went  over  these  s^nnptoms  in  his 
mind.  High  temperature,  a  rapid  pulse,  the  glands  of 
the  neck  swollen,  a  rash  on  the  chest,  hands,  or  shoul- 
ders, a  flushed  face,  and  feeble  movements.  There  was 
no  doubting  the  symptoms.  Lionel  was  in  a  severe 
relapse. 

Even  when  one  is  certain  of  something  terrible,  there 
is  still  a  clinging  to  hope,  a  sense  of  the  possibility  of 
hope.  Roger  sitting  there  on  the  bed,  staring  at  the 
restless  body,  had  still  a  hope  that  he  might  be  wrong. 
He  dressed  himself  carefully,  saying  over  and  over 
again  that  he  must  keep  a  level  head.  There  was  still 
one  test  to  apply.  It  w^as  necessary  to  be  certain.  He 
got  out  the  microscope,  and  sterilised  a  needle.  "Wlien 
he  was  ready  he  punctured  one  of  Lionel's  glands,  and 
blew  out  the  matter  on  to  a  slide.  Very  anxiously, 
after  preparing  the  slide  for  observation,  he  focussed  the 
lens,  and  looked  down  onto  the  new,  unsuspected  world, 
bustling  below  him  on  the  glass. 

He  was  looking  down  on  a  strange  world  of  discs, 
among  which  little  wriggling  wavy  membranes,  some- 
thing like  the  tails  of  tadpoles,  waved  themselves  slowly, 
and  lashed  out  with  a  sort  of  whip-lash  snout.  Each 
had  a  dark  little  nucleus  in  his  middle,  and  a  minute 
spot  near  the  anterior  end.  There  was  no  room  for 
hope  in  Roger's  mind  when  he  saw  those  little  waving 


272  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

membranes,  bustling  actively,  splitting,  multiplying, 
lasting  with  tbeir  whips.  They  were  trypanosomes  in 
high  activity.  He  watched  them  for  a  minute  or  two 
horrified  by  the  bluntness  and  lowness  of  the  organism, 
and  by  its  blind  power.  It  was  a  trembling  mem- 
brane a  thousandth  part  of  an  inch  long.  It  had 
brought  Lionel  down  to  that  restless  body  on  the  bed. 
It  had  reduced  all  Lionel's  knowledge  and  charm  and 
skill  to  a  little  plucking  at  the  skin,  a  little  tossing,  a 
little  babbling.  It  was  the  visible  pestilence,  the  living 
seed  of  death,  sown  in  the  blood. 

Roger  made  himself  some  tea.  Having  made  it,  he 
forced  himself  to  eat,  repeating  that  he  must  eat  to  keep 
strong,  lest  he  should  fail  Lionel  in  any  way.  Eood, 
and  the  hot  diffusive  stimulant,  made  him  more  cheer- 
ful. He  told  himself  that  Lionel  was  only  in  a  fit  of 
the  frequently  recurring  trypanosome  fever.  After  a 
day  or  two  of  fever  he  would  come  to  again,  weak, 
anaemic,  and  complaining  of  headache.  A  dose  of  atoxyl 
would  destroy  all  the  symptoms  in  a  few  hours.  Even 
if  he  did  not  take  the  atoxyl,  there  was  no  certainty 
that  the  fever  would  turn  to  sleeping  sickness.  There 
was  a  chance  of  it;  but  no  certainty.  A  doctor's  first 
duty  was  to  be  confident.  Well,  he  was  going  to  be 
confident.  He  was  going  to  pull  Lionel  through.  He 
remembered  a  conversation  between  two  Americans  in 
a  railway  carriage.     He  had  overheard  them  years  be- 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  273 

fore,  while  travelling  south  from  Eleetwood.  They 
were  talking  of  a  coming  prize  fight  between  two  noto- 
rious boxers  who,  while  training,  spent  much  energy 
in  contemning  each  other  in  the  Press,  threatening 
each  other  with  annihilation,  of  the  most  final  kind. 
"  Them  suckers  chew  the  rag  fit  to  beat  the  band,"  said 
one  of  the  men.  "  Why  cain't  they  give  it  a  rest  ? 
Let  'em  slug  each  other  good,  in  der  scrap.  De  hell 
wid  dis  chin  music." 

"  Aw  git  off,"  said  the  other.  "  Them  quitters,  if 
they  didn't  talk  hot  air  till  dey  believed  it,  dey'd  never 
git  near  der  ring." 

He  had  always  treasured  the  conversation  in  his 
memory.  He  thought  of  it  now.  Perhaps  if  doctors 
did  not  force  themselves  "  to  talk  hot  air  "  till  their 
patients  believed  it,  very  few  patients  would  ever  leave 
their  beds.  He  cleared  away  the  breakfast  things  and 
made  the  house  tidy.  He  gave  Lionel  an  extra  pillow. 
Then  he  went  out  into  the  morning  to  think  of  what 
he  should  do. 

When  he  got  out  into  the  air  he  remembered  the  two 
patients.  It  was  his  duty  now  to  dose  them  and  give 
them  food.  All  that  he  had  to  do  was  to  walk  to  their 
hut,  see  that  they  ate  their  breakfast,  and  give  them 
each  a  blue  pill  afterwards.  The  drug  would  have 
taken  a  stronger  hold  during  the  night,  and  the  action 
of  atoxyl  is  magical  even  in  bad  cases.     He  expected  to 


274  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

find  them  alert  and  lively,  changed  by  the  drug's  magic 
to  two  intelligent  merry  negroes.  It  was  not  too  much 
to  hope,  perhaps.  He  prayed  that  it  might  be  so. 
There  was  nothing  for  which  he  longed  so  much  as  for 
some  strong  evidence  of  the  power  of  atoxyl  to  arrest 
the  disease.  He  topped  the  rise  and  looked  down  on  his 
handiwork. 

All  was  quiet  in  the  clumsy  hut.  The  negroes  were 
not  stirring.  Roger  was  vaguely  perplexed  when  he 
saw  that  they  were  not  about.  Even  if  they  were  no 
better  than  they  had  been  the  day  before  they  ought  still 
to  be  up  and  sunning.  He  wondered  what  had  hap- 
pened. A  fear  that  the  drug  had  failed  him  mingled 
with  his  memory  of  a  book  about  man-eating  lions. 
He  broke  into  a  run. 

He  had  only  to  push  aside  the  tarpaulin  which  served 
for  door  to  see  that  the  two  patients  had  gone.  Wlien 
they  had  gone,  there  was  no  means  of  knowing;  but 
gone  they  were.  They  had  gone  at  a  time  when  there 
had  been  light  enough  for  them  to  see  the  biscuits  and 
the  bucket;  for  biscuits  and  bucket  were  gone  with 
them.  He  could  see  no  trace  of  the  two  men  on  the 
wide  savannah  which  rolled  away  below  him.  He  sup- 
posed that  some  homing  instinct  had  sent  them  back 
to  the  village.  He  was  cheered  by  the  thought.  They 
had  been  cured  within  two  days.  They  had  been 
changed  from  oafish  lumps  into  thinking  beings.  !Now 
he  would  cure  Lionel  in  the  same  way.     As  he  hurried 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  275 

back  to  "Portobe,"  he  was  thankful  that  some  of  the 
drug  remained  to  them.  He  would  have  been  in  a 
strange  quandary  had  they  used  all  the  drug  two  days 
before. 


XI 

There's  a  lean  fellow  beats  all  conquerors. 

Old  Fortunatus. 

WHEN  he  began  to  prepare  to  give  the  injec- 
tion, he  could  not  find  the  atoxyl  bottle. 
He  searched  anxiously  through  the  hut  for 
it,  but  could  not  find  it.  It  was  an  unmistakable  glass 
bottle,  half-full  of  distilled  water,  at  the  bottom  of 
which  lay  some  of  the  white  sediment  as  yet  undissolved. 
The  bottle  bore  a  square  white  label,  marked  atoxyl, 
in  big  capitals,  printed  by  Lionel  with  a  blue  pencil. 
Roger  could  not  see  it  anywhere.  He  looked  in  all  the 
boxes,  one  after  the  other.  He  looked  in  the  gun-cases, 
under  the  folds  of  the  tent,  in  the  chinks  and  crannies, 
everywhere.  It  was  not  there.  When  he  had  searched 
the  hut  twice  from  end  to  end,  in  different  directions, 
he  decided  that  it  was  not  there.  His  next  thought  w^as 
that  it  must  have  been  left  in  the  hut  with  the  two 
patients,  and  that  the  patients  must  have  carried  it  off 
as  treasure  trove.  In  that  case,  perhaps,  it  would  be 
gone  forever.  He  would  have  noticed  it  that  morning 
had  it  been  still  in  the  hut.     Then  he  thought  that  it 

might  still  be  in  the  hut.     It  might  have  been  put  be- 

276 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  277 

hind  a  box.  He  might  have  failed  to  see  it.  It  was 
necessary  to  make  certain.  He  hurried  to  the  hut  and 
searched  it  through.  A  couple  of  minutes  of  searching 
shewed  him  that  the  bottle  was  not  there. 

He  racked  his  brains,  trying  to  think  what  had  be- 
come of  it.  When  had  he  last  seen  it  ?  Lionel  and  he 
had  been  at  the  hut  during  the  preceding  afternoon. 
They  had  staked  in  the  uprights  of  the  shelter ;  and  had 
then  knocked  off  for  a  rest,  as  Lionel  was  not  feeling 
well.  During  the  rest  he  (Roger)  had  brought  the 
atoxyl  from  "  Portobe,"  and  had  given  the  second  in- 
jection to  the  two  patients.  So  much  was  clear.  "What 
had  happened  then  ?  He  tried  to  remember.  After 
that  he  had  gone  on  with  the  building,  while  Lionel  had 
rested.  He  distinctly  remembered  Lionel  sitting  down 
on  the  wall-top  with  the  atoxyl  bottle  in  his  hands. 
What  had  he  done  with  it  after  that?  Surely  he  had 
taken  it  back  with  him  to  "  Portobe  "  ?  In  any  case 
there  could  be  no  doubt  that  Lionel  had  been  the  last 
to  touch  it.  Lionel  had  taken  the  bottle  to  put  it  away ; 
and  it  seemed  now  only  too  likely  that  he  had  put  it 
away  in  a  place  where  no  one  else  could  find  it. 

Poger  tried  to  remember  exactly  how  ill  Lionel  had 
been  when  he  had  gone  back  to  "  Portobe."  He  re- 
membered that  he  had  been  flushed  and  peevish,  but  he 
could  not  remember  any  s^Tuptoms  of  light-headedness. 
He  had  crept  off  alone  while  Roger  was  fixing  a  roof- 
ridge.     Roger,   suddenly  noticing  that   he  had  gone, 


278         MULTITUDE  ANT)  SOLITUDE 

had  followed  him  to  "  Portobe,"  and  had  found  him  sit- 
ting vacantly  on  the  floor,  staring  with  unseeing  eyes. 
It  was  certain  that  the  atoxyl  bottle  was  not  with  him 
then. 

"  If  that  were  so,"  said  Roger  to  himself,  "  he  must 
have  dropped  it  or  put  it  down  between  '  Portobe '  and 
this.  Here  is  where  he  was  sitting.  This  is  the  path 
by  which  he  walked.  Is  the  bottle  anywhere  on  the 
path,  or  near  it  ?  "  It  was  not.  Careful  search  showed 
that  it  was  not.  "  Well,"  said  Roger  to  himself,  "  he 
must  have  thrown  it  away.  The  fever  made  him  des- 
perate or  peevish  for  a  moment,  and  he  has  thrown  it 
away.     Where  could  he  have  thro^vn  it  ?  " 

Unfortunately  there  was  a  wide  expanse  over  which 
he  might  have  thrown  it.  If  he  had  thrown  it  downhill 
it  might  have  rolled  far,  after  hitting  the  ground.  If 
he  had  thrown  it  uphill,  it  might  have  got  hidden  or 
smashed  among  the  loose  stones  from  the  ruins.  Hav- 
ing satisfied  himself  that  Lionel  for  the  moment  was  not 
appreciably  worse,  Roger  started  down  the  village  to 
find  his  two  patients.  He  thought  that  if  they  could  be 
made  to  understand  what  was  missing,  the  search  for 
the  bottle  might  be  made  by  three  pairs  of  eyes  instead 
of  by  one.  Some  possibility,  or,  to  be  more  exact,  some 
hope  of  a  possibility,  of  the  bottle  being  in  the  posses- 
sion of  the  patients,  occurred  to  him.  The  thought  that 
perhaps  Lionel's  life  depended  on  the  caprice  of  two 
cheerful  negro-boys  made  him  tremble. 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  279 

There  was  no  trace  of  the  patients  in  the  village. 
They  were  not  there,  nor  was  Roger  enough  skilled  in 
tracking  to  know  whether  they  had  been  there.  As 
they  were  not  there,  he  could  only  suppose  that,  on 
finding  themselves  w^hole,  among  the  wreck  of  their 
tribe,  they  had  set  out  to  follow  their  fellows  by  the 
tracks  left  by  the  cattle.  He  thought  it  possible  that 
they  might  return  soon,  in  a  day  or  two,  if  not  that  very 
day.  But  there  was  not  much  chance  of  their  return- 
ing with  the  atoxyl  bottle,  even  if  they  had  set  out  with 
it.  He  figured  to  himself  the  progression  of  a  bottle 
in  the  emotional  estimation  of  a  negro  who  had  never 
before  seen  one.  First,  it  would  appear  as  a  rich  treas- 
ure, something  to  be  boldly  stolen,  but  fearfully  prized. 
Then  it  would  appear  as  something  with  cubic  capacity, 
possibly  containing  potables.  Then,  after  sampling  of 
the  potable,  in  this  case  unpleasant,  it  would  be  emptied. 
Its  final  position  ranged  between  the  personal  ornament 
and  the  cock-shy.  Meanwhile,  Roger  had  the  sick  to 
feed. 

After  that  he  returned  to  Lionel.  Lionel's  tempera- 
ture had  dropped  slightly,  but  he  was  hardly  conscious 
yet.  Roger  left  him  while  he  began  the  weary,  fruit- 
less search  over  a  space  of  Africa  a  hundred  yards  long 
by  eighty  broad.  He  measured  a  space  forty  yards  on 
each  side  of  the  track  between  the  hut  and  "  Portobe." 
If  the  bottle  had  been  thrown  away,  it  had  been  throwTi 
away  within  that  space.     It  was  unlikely  to  have  fallen 


280  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

more  than  forty  yards  from  the  track.  A  squat  short- 
necked  bottle  is  not  an  easy  thing  to  throw.  If  it  were 
not  there,  then  he  would  have  to  conclude  that  the 
patients  had  taken  it.  It  was  a  long,  exhausting 
search.  It  was  as  wearisome  as  the  search  for  lost  ball 
at  cricket.  But  in  this  case  the  seeker  knew  that  his 
comrade's  life  depended  on  his  success.  He  paced  to 
and  fro,  treading  over  every  inch  of  the  measured 
ground,  beating  it  beneath  his  feet,  stamping  to  scare 
the  snakes,  feeling  his  blood  leap  whenever  he  struck  a 
stone.  The  sun  filled  earth  and  sky  with  wrinklings  of 
brass  and  glass  at  white,  tremulous  heat,  oozing  in  discs 
from  his  vortex  of  spilling  glare.  Many  times  in  the 
agony  of  that  search  Roger  had  to  break  off  to  look  to 
Lionel,  and  to  drink  from  the  canvas  bucket  of  boiled 
water.  He  prayed  that  Lionel  might  recover  conscious- 
ness, if  only  for  a  minute,  so  that  he  might  tell  him  in 
which  direction  the  bottle  had  been  flung.  But  Lionel 
did  not  recover  consciousness.  He  lay  in  his  bed,  mut- 
tering to  himself,  talking  nonsense  in  a  little,  low,  in- 
different voice.  The  most  that  Eoger  could  say  for 
him  was  that  he  was  quieter.  His  hands  were  quieter ; 
his  voice  was  quieter.  It  was  nothing  to  be  thankful 
for.     It  meant  merely  that  the  patient  was  weaker. 

After  it  was  over,  Eoger  thought  that  his  search  for 
the  lost  bottle  was  the  best  thing  he  had  ever  done.  He 
had  trampled  carefully  over  every  inch  of  the  measured 
ground.     He  had  taken  no  chances,  he  had  neglected  no 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  281 

possible  hole  nor  tussock.  A  wide  space  of  trodden 
grass  and  battered  shrub  testified  to  the  thoroughness 
of  his  painful  hunt.  And  all  was  useless.  The  bottle 
was  not  there.     The  atoxyl  was  lost. 

Once  before,  several  years  past,  Roger  had  watched 
the  approaching  death  of  one  intimately  known.  He 
had  seen  his  drunken  father  dying.  He  had  not  loved 
his  father;  he  had  felt  little  grief  for  him.  But  the 
sight  of  him  dying  woke  in  him  a  blind  pity  for  all  poor 
groping  human  souls,  "  who  work  themselves  such 
wrong "  in  a  world  so  beautiful  given  for  so  short  a 
time.  He  had  looked  on  that  death  as  though  it  were  a 
natural  force,  grave  and  pitiless  as  wisdom,  hiding  some 
erring  thing  which  had  been  at  variance  from  it.  He 
had  thought  of  Ottalie's  death,  down  in  the  cabin, 
among  the  wreck  of  the  supper-tables.  In  his  mind  he 
had  seen  Ottalie,  so  often,  flung  dovni  on  to  the  rank  of 
revolving  chairs,  and  struggling  up  with  wild  eyes,  but 
with  noble  courage  even  then,  to  meet  the  flood  shocking 
in  to  end  her.  That  death  seemed  a  monstrous,  useless 
horror  to  him.  N"ow  a  link  which  bound  him  to  Ottalie 
was  about  to  snap.  He  was  watching  the  sick-bed  of  a 
man  who  had  often  talked  with  her,  a  man,  who  had 
known  her  intimately.  Lionel,  with  the  simple,  charm- 
ing spirit,  so  like  in  so  many  ways  what  Ottalie  would , 
have  been  had  she  been  born  a  man,  was  mortally  sick. 
The  sight  of  him  lying  there  unconscious  struck  him  to 
the  heart.     That  mumbling  body  on  the  bed  was  his 


282  MULTITUDE  AITD  SOLITUDE 

friend,  his  dear  comrade,  a  link  binding  liim  to  every- 
thing which  he  cherished.  A  veil  was  being  drawn 
across  his  friend's  mind.  He  was  watching  it  come 
closer  and  closer,  and  the  house  within  grow  dark.  In 
a  little  while  it  would  be  dravra.  down  close,  shutting 
in  the  life  forever.  If  he  did  not  act  at  once  it  would 
be  too  late;  Lionel  would  die.  If  Lionel  were  to  die, 
he  would  be  alone  in  Africa,  with  that  thing  on  the 
bed. 

He  knelt  down  by  the  cot  in  a  whirl  of  jarring  sug- 
gestions. What  was  he  to  do  ?  Anxiety  had  lifted  him 
out  of  himself  on  to  another  plane,  a  plane  of  torturing 
emotion.  He  felt  a  painful  clearness  of  intellect  and 
an  utter  deadness  of  controlling  will.  His  ideas 
swarmed  in  his  head,  yet  he  had  no  power  to  select  from 
them.  He  saw  so  many  things  which  he  might  be  do- 
ing; building  a  raft  to  take  them  to  Malakoto,  making, 
or  trying  to  make,  a  serum,  to  nullify  the  infection; 
there  were  many  things.  But  how  could  he  leave 
Lionel  in  this  state,  and  how  was  he  to  get  Lionel  out 
of  this  state?  He  told  himself  that  large  doses  of 
arsenic  might  be  of  use;  the  next  moment  he  realised 
that  they  would  be  useless.  He  had  tried  to  make 
Lionel  take  arsenic  on  the  voyage  upstream,  as  a 
prophylactic.  Lionel  had  replied  that  arsenic  was  no 
good  to  him.  "  Trypanosomes,"  he  had  said,  "  become 
inured  to  particular  drugs.  Mine  got  inured  to  arsenic 
the  last  time  I  was  out  here.     If  my  trypanosomes  re- 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  283 

cur  you'll  have  to  try  something  else."  What  else  was 
he  to  try  ? 

He  had  read  that  marked  temporary  improvement 
shows  itself  after  a  variety  of  treatments,  after  any 
treatment,  in  fact,  which  tends  to  improve  the  health 
of  particular  organs.  lie  tried  the  simplest  and  least 
dangerous  of  those  which  he  remembered.  It  could  do 
no  harm,  in  any  case.  If  it  did  good,  he  would  feel 
braced  to  try  something  more  searching. 

The  mere  act  of  administering  the  dose  strengthened 
him.  Action  is  always  a  cordial  to  a  mind  at  war  with 
itself.  At  times  of  conflagration  the  fiddle  has  saved 
more  than  l^ero  from  disquieting  thought,  tending  to 
suicide.  When  at  last  he  had  forced  his  will  to  the 
selection  of  a  course,  he  felt  more  sure  of  himself.  He 
set  about  the  preparation  of  food  for  the  patient,  and, 
when  that  was  made  and  given,  he  sterilised  his  hands 
for  the  beginning  of  the  delicate  task  of  culture-making. 
He  had  plenty  of  tubes  of  media  of  different  kinds. 
He  selected  those  most  likely  to  give  quick  results. 
They  were  media  of  bouillon  and  agar.  One  of  them,  a 
special  medium  of  rabbit's  flesh  and  Witte's  peptone, 
had  been  prepared  by  Lionel  months  before,  in  far- 
distant  London.  Eoger  remembered  how  they  had 
talked  together,  in  their  enthusiasm,  during  the  making 
of  that  medium.  He  had  had  little  thought  then  of 
the  circumstances  under  which  it  w^ould  come  to  be 
used.     He  had  never  before  felt  home-sick  for  London. 


284  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

lie  was  home-sick  now.  He  longed  to  he  back  in  Lon- 
don with  Lionel,  in  the  bare,  airy  room  in  Pump  Court, 
where  the  noise  of  the  Strand  seemed  like  the  noise  of 
distant  trains  which  never  passed.  He  longed  to  be 
back  there,  out  of  this  loneliness,  with  Lionel  well  again. 
The  memory  of  their  little  bickerings  came  back  to  him. 
Travel  is  said  to  knock  off  the  angles  of  a  man.  If  the 
man  has  fire  in  him,  the  process  may  burn  the  fingers 
of  those  near  him.  Little  moments  of  irritation,  after 
sleepless  nights,  after  fever,  after  over-exertion,  had 
flamed  up  between  them.  No  Europeans  can  travel 
together  for  many  hundreds  of  miles  in  the  tropics 
without  these  irritable  moments.  They  derive  from 
physical  weakness  of  some  kind,  rather  than  from  any 
weakness  of  character,  though  the  links  which  bind  the 
two  are,  of  course,  close  and  subtle.  He  told  himself 
this;  but  he  was  not  to  be  comforted.  The  memory 
of  those  occasional,  momentary  jarrings  gave  him  keen 
pain.  If  Lionel  got  over  this  illness,  he  would  make  it 
up  to  him.  He  thought  of  many  means  by  which  he 
might  make  their  journey  together  more  an  adventure 
of  the  finer  character.  "  Lionel,"  he  said,  aloud,  look- 
ing down  on  the  sick  man,  "  I  want  you  to  forgive  me." 
There  was  no  sign  of  comprehension  from  Lionel. 
He  lay  there  muttering  nervously.  His  skin  was  hot  to 
the  touch  with  that  dry  febrile  heat  which  gives  to  him 
who  feels  it  such  a  shocking  sense  of  the  body's  usurpa- 
tion by  malign  power.     His  temperature  was  beginning 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  285 

to  show  the  marked  and  dreadful  evening  rise.  Roger 
could  guess  from  that  that  there  would  be  no  improve- 
ment until  the  morning  fall.  After  feeling  the  flutter- 
ing, rapid  pulse,  and  the  weakness  of  the  movements  of 
the  hands,  he  had  grave  doubts  whether  the  body  would 
be  able  to  stand  the  strain  of  that  sudden  fall. 

He  dragged  up  a  box  and  sat  staring  at  Lionel,  torn 
by  many  thoughts.  One  thought  was  that  these  mo- 
ments would  be  less  terrible  if  we  could  live  always  in 
this  awakened  sense  of  the  responsibility  and  wonder  of 
life.  Life  was  not  a  succession  of  actions,  planned  or 
not  planned,  successful  or  thwarted,  nor  was  it  a  "  con- 
gressus  mater iai  "  held  together  for  a  time  by  food  and 
exercise.  It  was  something  tested  by  and  evolved  from 
those  things,  which  were,  in  a  sense,  its  instruments,  the 
bricks  with  which  the  house  is  built.  He  began  to  real- 
ise how  hard  it  is  to  follow  life  in  a  world  in  which  the 
things  of  life  have  such  bright  colours  and  moving  qual- 
ities. He  had  not  realised  it  before,  even  when  he  had 
been  humbled  by  the  news  of  Ottalic's  death. 

In  his  torment  he  "  thought  long  "  of  Ottalie.  He 
called  back  to  his  memory  all  those  beautiful  days, 
up  the  glens,  among  the  hills.  Words  which  she  had 
spoken  came  back  to  him,  each  phrase  a  precious  stone, 
carefully  set  in  his  imagination  of  what  the  prompting 
thought  had  been  in  her  mind.  Ottalie  had  lived.  He 
could  imagine  Ottalie  sitting  in  judgment  upon  all  the 
days  of  her  life  ranked  in  coloured  succession  before  her, 


286  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

and  finding  none  wliicli  had  been  lived  without  refer- 
ence, however  unconscious,  to  some  fine  conception  of 
what  exists  unchangingly,  though  only  half  expressed 
by  us. 

He  roused  himself.  That  was  why  women  are  so 
much  finer  than  men ;  they  are  occupied  with  life  itself, 
men  with  its  products,  or  its  management.  "Whatever 
his  shortcomings  had  been,  he  was  no  longer  dealing 
with  the  things  of  life,  but  with  life  itself. 

Here  he  was,  for  the  first  time,  squarel}^  face  to  face 
with  a  test  of  his  readiness  to  deal  with  life.  He  forced 
himself  to  work  again,  following  the  process  with  a 
cautious  nicety  of  delicate  care  which  an  older  artist 
would  have  despised  as  niggling  and  stippling.  Erom 
time  to  time  he  stopped  to  look  at  Lionel,  and  to  take 
the  temperature.     The  temperature  was  swiftly  rising. 

After  some  days  the  fever  left  Lionel.  It  left  him 
with  well-marked  s^Tiiptoms  of  sleeping  sickness.  The 
man  was  gone.  The  body  remained,  weak  and  trem- 
bling, sufiiciently  conscious  to  answer  simple  questions, 
but  neither  energetic  enough  to  speak  unprompted,  nor 
to  ask  for  food  when  hungry.  How  long  he  might  live 
in  that  state  Eoger  could  not  guess.  He  might  live  for 
some  weeks;  he  might  die  suddenly,  shaken  by  the 
violent  changing  of  the  temperature  between  night  and 
morning.  It  was  not  till  the  power  of  speech  was 
checked  that  the  horror  of  it  came  home  to  Roger. 
Lionel's  monosyllables  became  daily  less  distinct,  until 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  287 

at  last  he  spoke  as  though  his  tongue  had  grown  too 
large  for  his  mouth.  The  sight  of  his  friend  turning 
brutish  before  his  eyes  made  Roger  weep.  The  strain 
was  telling  on  him;  his  recurrent  fever  was  shaking 
him.  He  felt  that  if  Lionel  were  to  die,  he  would  go 
mad.  lie  could  not  leave  his  friend.  Even  in  the  day- 
time, with  the  work  to  be  done,  he  could  hardly  bear  to 
leave  him.  At  night  his  one  solace  was  to  stare  at  his 
friend,  in  an  agony  of  morbid  pity,  remembering  what 
that  man  had  been  to  him  before  the  closing  in  of  the 
veil.  The  veil  was  closing  more  tightly  every  day. 
Roger  could  picture  to  himself  the  change  going  on  in- 
side the  dead,  on  the  surface  of  the  brain,  behind  the 
fine  eyes,  so  drowsy  now.  Such  a  little  thing  would 
arrest  that  change.  Two  cubic  centimetres  of  a  white 
soluble  powder.  He  went  over  it  in  his  mind,  day  after 
day,  till  the  craving  for  some  of  that  powder  was 
more  than  he  could  bear.  "  Lionel,"  he  would  say. 
"  Lionel,  Lionel."  And  the  drowsy  head  would  lift  it- 
self patiently,  and  grunt,  showing  some  sort  of  recogni- 
tion. If  Lionel  had  been  a  stranger  (so  he  told  him- 
self) it  might  have  been  endurable;  but  every  attitude 
and  gesture  of  the  patient  was  chained  to  his  inmost  life 
by  a  hundred  delicate  links.  That  he  had  known  Ot- 
talie  was  the  sharpest  thing  to  bear.  In  losing  Lionel 
he  was  losing  something  which  bound  Ottalie  to  him. 
Another  torment  was  the  knowledge  of  his  own  insufii- 
ciency.     He  thought  of  the  strongly  efficient  soldiers 


288  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

and  scientists  who  had  studied  the  disease.  He  loathed 
the  years  of  emotional  self-indulgence  which  had  un- 
fitted him  for  such  a  crisis.  He  longed  to  have  for  one 
half-hour  the  knowledge  and  skill  of  those  scientists, 
their  scrupulous  clinical  certainty,  their  reserve  of  alter- 
native resource. 

In  reality  he  was  doing  very  creditably.  One  of  the 
most  marked  qualities  in  his  character  was  that  extreme 
emotional  tenderness,  or  sensibility,  which  is  so  strong, 
and  in  the  lack  of  the  robuster  fibres,  so  vicious,  an 
ingredient  of  the  artistic  or  generating  intellect.  This 
sensitiveness  had  been  the  cause  in  him  of  a  scrupulous 
aloofness  from  the  world.  It  had  made  him  maintain  a 
sort  of  chastity  of  idea,  not  so  much  from  an  apprecia- 
tion of  the  value  of  whiteness  of  mind  as  from  an  in- 
herent fastidious  dislike  of  blackness.  As  he  yielded 
more  and  more  to  the  domination  of  this  aloofness,  as 
the  worker  in  an  emotional  art  is  tempted  to  do,  his 
positive  activities  grew  weaker  till  he  had  come  to  seek 
and  appreciate  in  others  those  qualities  which,  essential 
to  manly  nature,  had  been  etiolated  in  himself  by  the 
super-imposition  of  the  unreal.  This  desire  to  be  virtu- 
ous vicariously,  by  possessing  virtuous  friends,  had  been 
gratified  pleasantly,  with  advantage  to  himself,  and 
with  real  delight  to  those  robuster  ones  who  felt  his 
charm.  But  the  removal  of  the  friends  had  shown  the 
essential  want.  The  man  was  like  a  childless  woman, 
groping  about  blindly  for  an  emotional  outlet.     In  his 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  289 

misery  he  found  an  abiding  satisfaction  in  an  intense 
tenderness  to  the  suffering  near  him.  In  his  knowledge 
of  himself  he  had  feared  that  his  own  bodily  discomfort 
would  make  him  a  selfish,  petulant,  callous  nurse. 
Before  Lionel  had  fallen  ill,  he  had  been  prone  to  com- 
plain of  pains,  often  real  enough  to  a  weak,  highly  sensi- 
tive nature,  exposed,  after  years  of  easy  living,  to  the 
hardships  of  tropical  travel.  Lionel's  illness  had  al- 
tered that.  It  had  lifted  him  into  a  state  of  mental  ex- 
altation. In  their  intenser,  spiritual  forms,  such  states 
have  been  called  translation,  gustation  of  God,  ingTes- 
sion  to  the  divine  shadow,  communion  with  the  higher 
self.  They  may  be  defined  as  states  in  which  the  mind 
ceasing  to  be  conscious  of  the  body  as  a  vehicle,  drives 
it  superbly  to  the  dictated  end,  with  the  indifference  of 
a  charioteer  driving  for  high  stakes. 

Though  in  this  mood  he  was  supported  to  fine  deeds, 
he  was  denied  the  knowledge  of  his  success  in  them. 
His  heart  was  wrung  with  pity  for  the  sufferers  for 
whom  he  cared  so  tenderly,  day  after  day ;  but  the  depth 
of  his  pity  made  his  impotence  to  help  an  agony.  He 
saw  too  plainly  that  the  most  that  he  could  do  was  noth- 
ing. In  the  darker  recesses  of  his  mind  hovered  a  hor- 
ror of  giving  way  and  relapsing  to  the  barbarism  about 
him.  His  nerve  had  begun  to  tremble  under  the  strain. 
What  he  felt  was  the  recurrence  of  an  intense  religious 
mood  which  had  passed  over  his  mind  at  the  solemn  be- 
ginning of  manhood.     He  was  finding,  now,  after  years 


290  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

of  indifference,  the  cogency  of  the  old  division  into  good 
and  evih  As  in  boyhood,  during  that  religious  phase, 
he  had  at  times  a  strange,  unreasonable  sense  of  the 
sinfulness  of  certain  thoughts  and  actions,  which  to 
others,  not  awakened,  and  to  himself,  in  blinder  moods, 
seemed  harmless.  He  began  to  resolve  all  things  into 
terms  of  the  spiritual  war.  All  this  external  horror 
was  a  temptation  of  the  devil,  to  be  battled  with  lest  the 
soul  perish  in  him.  Little  things,  little  momentary 
thoughts,  momentary  promptings  of  the  sense,  perhaps 
only  a  desire  for  rest,  became  charged,  in  his  new  reck- 
oning of  values,  with  terrible  significances.  Often, 
after  three  hours  of  labour  in  the  village,  after  feeding 
and  cleaning  those  drowsy  dying  children,  in  the  hot 
sun,  till  he  was  exliausted  and  sick  at  heart,  a  fear  of 
giving  way  to  the  devil  urged  him  to  apply  to  them  some 
of  the  known  alleviations,  arsenic,  mercury,  or  the  like. 
He  would  arise,  and  dose  them  all  carefully,  knowing 
that  it  was  useless,  that  it  would  merely  prolong  a  liv- 
ing death ;  but  knowing  also  that  to  do  so,  at  all  costs, 
was  the  duty  of  one  who  had  taken  the  military  oath  of 
birth  into  a  Christian  race.  He  learned  that  the  higher 
notes  of  a  whistle  pleased  those  even  far  advanced  in 
sleep.  He  found  time  each  day  to  whistle  to  them 
in  those  few  livelier  minutes  before  meals,  when  the 
drowsy  became  almost  alert.  He  judged  that  anything 
which  stimulated  them  must  necessarily  be  good  for 
them.     He  tried  patiently  and  tenderly  many  mild  sen- 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  291 

sual  excitations  on  tlicm,  giving  them  scent  or  snuff  to 
inhale,  letting  them  suck  pieces  of  his  precious  sugar, 
burning  blue  lights  at  night  before  them,  giving  them 
slight  electric  shocks  from  his  battery.  He  felt  that 
by  these  means  he  kept  alive  the  faculties  of  the  brain 
for  some  few  days  longer.  From  Tiri,  the  wrinkled 
old  crone,  the  only  uninfected  person  there,  he  tried 
hard  to  learn  the  dialect ;  but  age  had  frozen  her  brain, 
he  could  learn  nothing  from  her  except  "  Katirkama." 
He  never  rightly  knew  what  Katirkama  was.  It  was 
something  very  amusing,  since  it  made  her  laugh 
heartily  whenever  it  was  mentioned.  It  had  something 
to  do  with  drumming  on  a  native  drum.  Katirkama. 
He  beat  the  drum,  and  the  old  body  became  one  nod  of 
laughter,  bowing  to  the  beat  with  chuckles.  "  Katir- 
kama," she  cried,  giggling.  "  Katirkama."  After 
Katirkama  she  would  follow  him  about,  holding  his 
hand,  squeaking,  till  he  gave  her  some  sugar. 

When  the  work  in  the  village  was  finished,  he  used  to 
walk  back  to  Lionel,  whom  he  would  find  drowsed,  just 
as  he  had  left  him.  On  good  days  he  had  some  little 
experiment  to  make.  He  would  repeat  some  trick  or 
accidental  gesture  which  had  caught  the  dying  attention 
of  a  native.  If  he  were  lucky,  the  trick  brought  back 
some  lively  shadow  of  Lionel.  Even  if  it  passed  away 
at  once,  it  was  cheering  to  see  that  shadow.  More 
usually  the  trick  failed.  Having  seen  the  occasional 
effect  of  them,  he  became  studious  of  tricks  which  might 


292  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

help  to  keep  the  intelligence  alert.  The  sight  of  Lionel 
gave  him  so  crushing  a  sense  of  what  was  happening  in 
the  affected  brain,  that  he  found  it  easy  to  imagine 
fancies  which,  as  he  judged,  would  be  arresting  to  it. 
The  burning  of  magnesium  wire  and  the  turning  of  a 
policeman's  rattle  were  his  most  successful  efforts. 
One  day,  while  carefully  dropping  some  dilute  carbolic 
acid  into  a  chegua  nest  on  Lionel's  foot,  he  found 
that  the  burning  sensation  gave  pleasure.  It  seemed 
to  reach  the  brain  like  a  numbed  tickling.  Lionel 
laughed  a  little  uneasy,  nervous  laugh.  It  was  the  only 
laughter  heard  at  "  Portobe  "  for  many  days. 

Though  his  work  occupied  him  for  ten  hours  daily,  it 
did  not  occupy  the  whole  of  him.  Much  of  it,  such  as 
the  preparation  of  food  and  the  daily  disinfection  of  the 
huts,  was  mechanical.  His  mind  was  left  free  to  con- 
sole itself  by  speculation  as  best  it  could.  His  first  im- 
pressions of  the  solitude  were  ghastly  and  overpowering. 
Waking  and  asleep  he  felt  the  horror  of  the  prospect  of 
losing  Lionel.  It  was  not  that  he  dreaded  the  prospect 
of  being  alone.  His  fear  was  religious.  He  feared 
that  the  barbarism  of  the  solitude  would  overpower  his 
little  drilled  force  of  civilised  sentiment.  He  was  war- 
ring against  barbarism.  Lionel  was  his  powerful  ally. 
Looking  out  from  his  hut  on  the  hill  he  could  see  bar- 
barism all  round  him,  in  a  vast  and  very  silent  menac- 
ing landscape,  secret  in  forest,  sullen  in  its  red,  shrink- 
ing river,  brooding  in  the  great  plain,  dotted  with  bones 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  293 

and  stones.  Even  the  littleness  of  an  English  land- 
scape would  have  heen  hard  to  hear,  but  this  immensity 
of  savagery  awed  him.  He  doubted  whether  he  would 
be  able  to  bear  the  presence  of  that  sight  without  his 
ally  by  him. 

He  knew  that  if  he  let  it  begin  to  get  upon  his  nerves 
he  would  be  ruined.  He  took  himself  in  hand  on  the 
second  day  of  Lionel's  fever.  His  situation  made  him 
remember  a  conversation  heard  years  before  at  his 
rooms  in  "Westminster.  O'Neill  and  a  young  Austra- 
lian journalist,  of  the  crude  and  vigorous  kind  nur- 
tured by  the  Bulletin,  had  passed  the  evening  in  talk 
with  him.  The  Australian  had  told  them  of  the  lone- 
liness of  Australia,  and  of  shepherds  and  settlers  who 
went  mad  in  the  loneliness  on  the  clearings  at  the  back 
of  beyond.  O'lsTeill  had  said  that  at  present  Australian 
literature  was  the  product  of  home-sick  Englishmen ; 
but  that  a  true  Australian  literature  w^ould  begin  among 
those  lonely  ones.  "  One  of  those  fellows  just  going 
mad  will  begin  a  literature.  And  that  literature  will 
be  the  distinctive  Australian  literature.  In  the  cities 
you  will  only  get  noisy  imitations  of  what  is  common- 
est in  the  literature  of  the  mother  country."  They  had 
stayed  talking  till  four  in  the  morning.  He  had  never 
seen  the  Australian  since  that  time.  He  remembered 
now  his  stories  of  shepherds  who  bolted  themselves  into 
their  huts  in  the  effort  to  get  away  from  the  loneliness 
which  had  broken  their  nerve.     He  must  take  care,  he 


294         MULTITUDE  AKD  SOLITUDE 

said,   not  to  let  that  state  of  mind  take  hold  upon 
him. 

He  began  to  school  himself  that  night.  He  forced 
himself  up  the  hill,  into  the  Zimbabwe,  at  the  eerie 
moment  when  the  dusk  turns  vaguely  darker,  and  the 
stars  are  still  pale.  All  the  dimness  of  ruin  and  jungle 
brooded  malignantly,  informed  by  menace.  Faint 
noises  of  creeping  things  rustled  in  the  alley  between 
the  walls.  Dew  was  fast  forming.  Drops  wetted  him 
with  cold  splashes  as  he  broke  through  creepers.  Be- 
low him  stretched  the  continent,  ^o  light  of  man 
burned  in  that  expanse.  There  was  a  blackness  of  for- 
est, and  a  ghostliness  of  grass,  all  still.  Out  of  the 
night  behind  him  came  a  stealthiness  of  approach,  more 
a  sense  than  a  sense  perception.  Coming  in  the  night 
so  secretly,  it  was  hard  to  locate.  It  had  that  protective 
ventriloquism  of  sounds  produced  in  the  dark.  There 
is  an  animal  sense  in  us,  not  nearly  etiolated  yet,  which 
makes  us  quick  to  respond  to  a  light  noise  in  the  night. 
It  makes  us  alert  upon  all  sides;  but  with  a  tremulous 
alertness,  for  we  have  outgrown  the  instinctive  knowl- 
edge of  what  comes  by  night.  Roger  faced  round 
swiftly,  with  a  knocking  heart.  The  noise,  whatever 
it  was,  ceased.  After  an  instant  of  pause  a  spray,  till 
then  pinned,  swept  loose,  as  though  the  talon  pinning 
it  had  lifted.  It  swept  away  with  a  faint  swishing 
noise,  followed  by  a  pattering  of  drops.  After  that 
there  came  a  silence  while  the  listener  and  the  hidden 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  295 

watcher  stared  into  the  blackness  for  what  should  fol- 
low. The  noise  of  the  spattering  gave  Roger  a  sense  of 
the  direction  of  the  danger,  if  it  were  danger.  He  drew 
out  his  revolver.  Another  spray  spilled  a  drop  or  two. 
Then,  for  an  instant,  near  the  ground,  not  far  away, 
two  greenish  specks  burned  like  glow-worms,  like  crawl- 
ing fireflies,  like  two  tiny  electric  lights  suddenly  turned 
on.  They  were  shut  oif  instantly.  They  died  into  the 
night,  making  it  blacker.  After  they  had  faded  there 
came  a  hushed  rustling  which  might  have  been  near  or 
far  off.     When  that,  too,  had  died,  there  was  a  silence. 

It  was  so  still  that  the  dripping  of  the  dew  made  the 
night  like  a  death  vault.  Terrible,  inscrutable  stars 
burned  aloft.  Eoger  pressed  his  back  against  the  wall. 
Up  and  up  towered  the  wall,  an  immense  labour,  a 
cynical  pile,  stamped  with  lust's  cruelties.  It  almost 
had  life,  so  seen.  In  front  was  the  unknown;  behind, 
that  uncanny  thing.  Roger  waited,  tense,  till  the  dark- 
ness was  alive  with  all  fear.  Everything  was  in  the 
night  there,  gibbering  faces,  death,  the  sudden  cold 
nosing  of  death's  pig-snout  on  the  heart.  He  SAVung 
his  revolver  up,  over  his  left  elbow,  and  fired. 

The  report  crashed  among  the  ruin,  sending  the  night 
rovers  fast  and  far.  Chur-ra-rak !  screamed  the  scatter- 
ing fowl.  Roger  paid  little  heed  to  them.  He  was 
bending  dov.m  in  his  tracks  hugging  his  forehead.  The 
hammer  of  the  kicking  revolver  had  driven  itself  into 
his  brow  with  a  welt  which  made  him  sick.     He  groped 


296  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

his  way  do^\^l  the  hill  again,  thinking  himself  lucky  that 
the  iron  had  not  smashed  his  eye.  He  thought  no 
more  of  terror  for  that  night. 

But  the  next  night  it  came  with  the  dark.  The  old 
savage  devil  of  the  dark  was  there;  the  darkness  of 
loneliness,  the  loneliness  of  silence,  the  immanent  ter- 
ror of  places  not  yet  won,  still  ruled  by  the  old  unclean 
gods,  not  yet  exorcised  by  virtue.  Looking  at  it,  after 
night  had  fallen,  from  the  door  of  "  Portobe,"  it  seemed 
full  of  the  promise  of  death.  The  little  rustling  noises 
w^ere  there ;  the  suggestion  of  stealthy  death ;  the  brood- 
ing of  it  all.  A  braver  man  would  have  been  awed  by 
it.  It  was  not  all  cowardice  which  daunted  Roger.  It 
was  that  animal  something  not  yet  etiolated,  which  on 
a  dark  night  in  a  lonely  place  at  a  noise  of  stirring 
makes  a  man's  heart  thump  like  a  buck's  heart.  To 
stare  into  the  blackness  with  eyes  still  dazzled  from  the 
camp-fire  gave  a  sense  of  contrast  not  easy  to  overcome. 
The  comfort  of  the  fire  was  something,  something  civil- 
ised, conquered,  human.  And  the  beloved  figure  lying 
ill  was  one  of  his  O'wn  kind,  leagued  with  him  against 
the  inhuman.  The  vastness  of  the  inhuman  overpow- 
ered his  will.  He  dared  not  face  it.  Sudden  terror 
told  him  of  something  behind  him.  He  hurried  into 
the  hut  and  heaped  boxes  against  the  tarpaulin  door. 

The  moment  of  fear  passed,  leaving  him  ashamed. 
He  was  giving  way  to  nerves.  That  would  not  do. 
He  must  brace  himself  to  face  the  darkness.     He  forced 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  297 

himself  dowTi  the  hill  to  the  village,  and  into  the  village. 
Kneeling  do\\ai  he  peered  into  the  hut  where  old  Tiri 
rocked  herself  by  a  fire  of  reeds,  like  the  withered 
beauty  in  Villon.  She  did  not  see  him.  She  was 
crooning  a  ditty.  Prom  time  to  time,  with  a  nervous 
jerk  of  the  arm,  she  flung  on  a  handful  of  reed,  which 
crackled  and  flared,  so  that  she  chuckled.  He  was  com- 
forted by  the  sight  of  her.  Any  resolute  endurance  of 
life  is  comforting  to  the  perplexed.  He  walked  back 
up  the  hill  without  the  tremors  he  had  felt  in  going 
down.  Something  in  the  walk,  the  coolness  and  quiet 
of  it,  made  him  forget  his  fears.  He  experienced  an 
animal  feeling  of  being,  for  the  moment,  at  one  with 
the  night.  "  Surely,"  he  thought,  "  if  man  can  con- 
ceive a  spiritual  state,  calm  and  august  like  the  night, 
he  can  attain  it."  It  might  even  be  that  by  brooding 
solitary,  like  the  night  itself,  one  would  arrive  at  the 
truth  sooner  than  by  the  restless  methods  left  behind. 
Standing  by  the  door  of  his  hut  again,  the  darkness 
exalted  him,  not,  in  the  common  way,  by  giving  him  a 
sense  of  the  splendour  of  nature,  but  by  heightening  for 
an  instant  his  knowledge  of  the  superior  splendour  of 
men. 

He  stood  looking  out  for  a  little  while  before  some 
rally  of  delirium  called  him  within  to  his  friend. 
Later,  when  he  had  finished  liis  work  for  the  night,  he 
thought  gloomily  of  what  his  fate  would  be  if  the  death 
of  Lionel  left  him  alone  there,  so  many  miles  from  his 


298  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

fellows.  What  was  he  to  do?  How  was  he  to  cross 
four  hundred  miles  of  tropical  country  to  the  nearest 
settlement  of  whites  ?  No  civilised  man  had  been  there 
since  the  Phoenicians  fought  their  last  rearguard  fight 
round  the  wagons  of  the  last  gold  train.  Eour  hun- 
dred miles  meant  a  month's  hard  marching,  even  if  all 
went  well.  He  could  not  count  on  doing  it  in  less  than 
a  month.  And  how  was  he  to  live  during  that  month, 
how  guide  himself?  Even  in  mere  distance  it  was  a 
hard  walk.  It  was  much  such  a  walk  as,  say,  from  the 
Land's  End  to  Aberdeen,  but  with  all  the  natural  diiS- 
culties  multiplied  by  ten,  and  all  the  artificial  helps  re- 
moved. It  was  going  to  be  forced  on  him.  He  would 
have  to  attempt  that  walk  or  die  alone,  where  he  was, 
after  watching  his  friend  die.  He  glanced  anxiously 
at  Lionel  to  see  if  there  were  any  chance  of  Lionel's 
being  dragged  and  helped  over  that  distance.  He  saw 
no  chance.  He  would  have  to  watch  Lionel  dying. 
He  would  have  to  try  to  stave  off  Lionel's  death  by  all 
the  means  known  to  him,  knowing  all  the  time  that  all 
the  means  were  useless.  Then  he  would  bury  Lionel, 
after  watching  him  die.  After  that  he  would  have  to 
watch  the  villagers  dying;  and  then,  when  quite  alone, 
set  forth. 

And  to  what  would  he' set  forth?  What  had  life  to 
give  him,  if,  as  was  very  unlikely,  he  should  win  back 
to  life?  His  life  was  Ottalie's.  He  had  consecrated 
his  talent  to  her,  he  had  devoted  all  his  powers  to  her. 


MULTITUDE  AXD  SOLITUDE  299 

The  best  of  his  talent  had  been  a  shadowy  sentimental 
thing,  by  which  no  great  life  could  be  lived,  no  great 
sorrow  overcome.  The  best  of  his  powers  had  left  him 
in  the  centre  of  a  continent,  helpless  to  do  what  he  had 
set  out  to  do.  He  had  not  made  the  world  "  nobler  for 
her  sake."  Ah,  but  he  would,  he  said,  starting  up,  filled 
suddenly  with  a  vision  of  that  dead  beauty.  He  would 
help  the  world  to  all  that  it  had  lost  in  her.  He  must 
be  Ottalie's  fair  mind  at  work  still,  blessii:ig  the  world. 
So  would  his  mind  possess  her,  creeping  in  about  her 
soul,  drinking  more  and  more  of  her,  till  her  strength 
was  the  strength  by  which  he  moved.  She  was  very 
near  him  then,  he  felt.  He  felt  that  all  this  outward 
world  of  his  was  only  an  image  of  his  mind,  and  that 
she  being  in  his  mind,  was  with  him.  His  heart  was 
a  wretched  heart  in  Africa,  in  which  a  sick  man  babbled 
to  a  weary  man.  But  there  in  his  heart,  he  felt,  was 
that  silent  guest,  beautiful  as  of  old,  waiting  in  the 
half-darkness,  waiting  quietly,  watching  him,  wanting 
him  to  do  the  right  thing,  waiting  till  it  was  done,  so 
that  she  might  rise,  and  walk  to  him,  and  take  his  hands. 
He  must  not  fail  her. 

He  turned  to  the  corner  in  which  he  felt  her  presence. 
"  Ottalie !  Ottalie !  "  he  said  in  a  low  voice.  "  Ot- 
talie,  dear,  help  me  to  do  this.  I'm  going  to  fail,  dear. 
Help  me  not  to."  Lionel  moaned  a  little,  turning  on  his 
side  again.  A  draught  ruffled  the  fire  slightly.  !N^o 
answer  moved  in  his  heart.     He  had  half  expected  that 


300  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

the  answer  would  speak  within  him,  in  three  short 
words.  No  words  came.  Instead,  he  felt  burningly 
the  image  of  Ottalie  as  he  had  seen  her  once  up  the 
Craga'  Burn,  one  summer  at  sunset.  They  had  stood 
among  the  moors  together,  on  the  burn's  flat  grassy 
bank,  near  a  little  drumming  fall,  which  guggled  over 
a  sway  of  rushes.  Sunset  had  given  a  glory  to  the 
moors.  All  the  great  hills  rose  up  in  the  visionary 
clearness  of  an  Irish  evening  after  rain.  A  glow  like 
the  glow  of  health  was  on  them.  It  was  ruddy  on  Ot- 
talie's  cheek,  as  she  turned  her  grave  hazel  eyes  upon 
him,  smiling,  to  ask  him  if  he  saw  the  Rest  House. 
She  meant  a  magic  rest-house,  said,  in  popular  story, 
to  be  somewhere  on  the  hill  up  Craga'  way.  Roger 
had  talked  with  men  who  claimed  to  have  been  beguiled 
there  by  "  them  "  to  rest  for  the  night.  Ottalie  and 
he  had  narrowed  down  its  possible  whereabouts  almost 
to  the  spot  where  they  were  standing;  and  she  had 
turned,  smiling,  with  the  sun  upon  her,  to  ask  him  if 
he  saw  it.  They  had  never  seen  it,  though  they  had 
often  looked  for  it  at  magical  moments  of  the  day. 
Now  looking  back  he  saw  that  old  day  with  all  the  glow 
of  the  long-set  sun.  Ottalie,  and  himself,  and  the 
Craga'  Burn,  the  rush  sway  trailing,  the  pleasant,  faint 
smell  of  the  blight  on  the  patch  beyond,  the  whiff  of  turf 
smoke.  Ottalie.  Ottalie.  Ottalie  in  the  blind  grave 
with  the  dogrose  on  her  breast. 

Living  alone  fosters  an   intensity  of  personal  life 


MULTITUDE  AI^D  SOLITUDE  301 

wiiicli  sometimes  extinguishes  the  social  instinct,  even  in 
those  who  live  alone  by  the  compulsion  of  accident.  It 
had  become  Roger's  lot  to  look  into  himself  for  solace. 
Most  of  those  things  which  society  had  given  to  him 
during  his  short,  impressionable  life  were  useless  to 
him.  He  had  to  depend  now  upon  the  intensity  of  his 
own  nature.  He  reckoned  up  the  extent  of  his  civilisa- 
tion, as  shewn  by  the  amount  retained  in  his  memory. 
It  amounted,  when  all  was  said,  when  allowance  had 
been  made  for  the  amount  absorbed  unconsciously  into 
character,  to  a  variety  of  smatterings,  some  of  them 
pleasant,  some  interesting,  and  all  tinged  by  the  vivid- 
ness of  his  personal  predilection.  He  had  read,  either 
in  the  original  or  in  translation,  all  the  masterpieces  of 
European  literature.  He  had  seen,  either  in  the  orig- 
inal or  in  reproduction,  all  the  masterpieces  of  Euro- 
pean art.  His  memory  for  art  and  literature  was 
a  good  general  one;  but  general  knowledge  was  now 
useless  to  him.  "What  he  wanted  was  particular  knowl- 
edge, memory  of  precise,  firm,  intellectual  images,  in 
words,  or  colour,  or  bronze,  to  give  to  his  mind  the 
strength  of  their  various  order,  as  he  brooded  on  them 
menaced  by  death.  It  was  surprising  to  him  how  lit- 
tle remained  of  all  that  he  had  read  and  seen.  The 
tale  of  Troy  remained,  very  vividly,  with  many  of  the 
tragedies  rising  from  it.  Dante  remained.  The  Morte 
D'Arthur  remained.  Much  of  the  Bible  remained. 
Of  Shakespeare  he  had  a  little  pocket  volume  contain- 


302  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

ing  eight  plays.  These,  and  the  memories  connected 
with  them,  were  in  his  mind  with  a  reality  not  till  then 
known  to  him.  Among  the  lesser  writers  he  found 
that  his  memory  was  kinder  to  those  whom  he  had 
learned  by  heart  as  a  boy  than  to  those  whom  he  had 
read  with  interest  as  a  man.  He  knew  more  Scott 
than  Elaiibert,  and  more  Mayne  Eeid  than  Scott. 
From  thinking  over  these  earlier  literary  idols,  with  a 
fierceness  of  tenderness  not  to  be  understood  save  by 
those  who  have  been  forced,  as  he  was  forced,  to  the 
construction  of  an  intense  inner  life,  he  began  to  realise 
the  depth  and  strength  of  the  emotion  of  the  indulgence 
of  memory. 

Thenceforward  he  indulged  his  memory  whenever  his 
work  spared  his  intelligence.  He  lived  again  in  his  past 
more  intensely  than  he  had  ever  lived.  His  life  in 
Ireland,  his  days  with  Ottalie,  her  words  and  ways  and 
looks,  he  realised  again  minutely  with  an  exactness 
which  was,  perhaps,  half  imaginative.  He  troubled  his 
peace  with  the  sweetness  of  those  visions.  The  more 
deeply  true  they  were,  the  more  strong  their  colour; 
the  more  intense  the  vibration  of  their  speech,  the  more 
sharp  was  the  knowledge  of  their  unreality,  the  more 
bitter  the  longing  for  the  reality.  He  was  home-sick 
for  the  Irish  hills  which  rose  up  in  his  mind  so  clearly, 
threaded  by  the  flash  of  silver.  He  thought  of  them 
hour  after  hour  with  a  yearning,  brooding  vision  which 
gnawed  at  his  heart-strings. 


MULTITUDE  AXD  SOLITUDE  303 

After  a  few  weeks  he  found  that  he  could  think  of 
them  without  that  torment.  He  had  perfected  his 
imagination  of  them  by  an  intensity  of  thought.  They 
had  become,  as  it  were,  a  real  country  in  his  brain, 
through  which  his  mind  could  walk  at  w^ill,  almost  as 
he  had  walked  in  the  reality.  By  mental  effort,  ab- 
sorbing his  now  narrowed  external  life,  he  could  imag- 
ine himself  walking  with  Ottalie  up  the  well-kno"^Ti 
waters  and  leanings,  so  poignantly,  with  such  precision 
of  imagined  detail,  that  the  country  seen  by  him  as  he 
passed  through  it  was  as  deeply  felt  as  the  real  scene. 
The  solemnity  of  his  life  made  his  imagination  of  Ot- 
talie deeper  and  more  precious.  At  times  he  felt  her 
by  him,  as  though  an  older,  unearthly  sister  walked 
with  him,  half  friend,  half  guide.  At  other  times, 
when  he  was  lucky,  in  the  intense  and  splendid  dreams 
which  come  to  those  of  dwarfed  lives,  he  saw  her  in 
vision.  Such  times  were  white  times,  which  made 
whole  days  precious ;  but  at  all  times  he  had  clear,  pre- 
cise memories  of  her;  and,  better  still,  a  truer  knowl- 
edge of  her,  and,  through  that,  a  truer  knowledge  of 
life.  lie  thought  of  her  more  than  of  his  work.  In 
thinking  of  her  he  was  thankful  that  all  his  best  work 
had  been  written  in  her  praise.  "  His  spirit  was  hers, 
the  better  part  of  him."  If  he  had  anything  good  in 
him,  or  which  strained  towards  good,  she  had  put  it 
there  in  the  beauty  of  her  passing.  If  he  might  find 
this  cure,  helping  poor  suffering  man,  it  would  be  only 


304  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

a  spark  of  her,  smouldering  to  sudden  burning  in  a 
heap  of  tow. 

His  efforts  to  make  a  culture  succeeded.  With  very 
great  difficulty  he  obtained  a  vigorous  culture  of  try- 
panosomes,  of  the  small  kind  usually  obtained  by  cul- 
ture. He  strove  to  make  the  culture  virulent,  by  grow- 
ing it  at  the  artificial  equable  temperature  most  favour- 
able to  the  growth  of  the  germ  (25°  C),  and  by  adding 
to  the  bouillon  on  which  the  germs  fed  minute  quanti- 
ties of  those  chemical  qualities  likely  to  strengthen  them 
in  one  way  or  another. 

It  was  a  slow  process,  and  Koger  could  ill  spare  time 
in  his  race  with  death.  He  had  grown  calmer  and  less 
impulsive  since  he  had  left  the  feverish,  impulsive  city ; 
but  he  had  not  yet  acquired  the  detachment  from  cir- 
cumstance of  the  doctor  or  soldier.  The  question 
"Shall  I  be  in  time?"  was  always  jarring  upon  the 
precept  "  You  must  not  hurry."  At  last,  one  day  when 
Lionel  had  shewn  less  responsiveness  than  usual,  a  tem- 
porary despondency  made  him  give  up  hope.  He  saw 
no  chance  of  having  his  anti-toxin  ready  before  Lionel 
died.  He  picked  up  a  book  on  serum  therapy,  and 
turned  the  pages  idly.     A  heading  caught  his  eye. 

"  The  treatment,  should  hegin  soon  after  the  disease 
lias  declared  itself  ran  the  heading.  The  paragraph 
went  on  to  say  that  the  anti-toxin  was  little  likely  to 
be  of  use  after  the  toxin  had  taken  a  strong  hold  upon 
the  patient's  system.     The  treatment  was  more  likely 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  305 

to  be  successful  if  a  large  initial  injection  of  the  anti- 
toxin were  given  directly  the  disease  became  evident. 
There  it  was,  in  black  and  white;  it  was  no  use  going 
on.  He  had  tried  all  his  ameliorative  measures,  with 
temporary  success.  Latterly  he  had  tried  them  spar- 
ingly, fearing  to  immunise  the  germ.  He  had  wanted 
to  keep  by  him  unused  some  strong  drug  which  would 
hold  off  the  disease  at  the  end.  ]^ow  there  was  nothing 
for  it  but  to  give  the  strong  drug.  His  friend  was  dy- 
ing. He  might  burn  his  ships  and  comb  his  hair  for 
death.     He  had  tried  and  failed. 

The  mood  of  dcj^ression  had  been  ushered  in  by  an 
attack  of  fever  different  from  his  other  attacks.  It  did 
not  pass  off  after  following  a  regular  course,  like  the 
recurrent  malaria.  It  hung  upon  him  in  a  constant, 
cutting  headache,  which  took  the  strength  out  of  him. 
He  sat  dully,  weak  as  water,  with  a  clanging  head,  re- 
peating that  Lionel  was  dying.  Lionel  was  dying. 
One  had  only  to  think  for  a  moment  to  see  that  it  was 
hopeless.     Lionel  was  going  to  die. 

He  raised  his  hand,  thinking  that  something  had  bit- 
ten his  throat.  His  throat  glands  were  swollen.  Eor  a 
moment  he  thought  that  the  swelling  was  only  a  mos- 
quito bite;  but  a  glance  in  the  mirror  shewed  him  that 
it  was  worse  than  that.  The  swollen  glands  were  a  sign 
that  he,  too,  was  sickening  for  death.  His  fever  of  the 
last  few  hours  was  the  initial  fever.  Sooner  or  later  he 
would  drowse  off  to  death  as  Lionel  was  drowsing.     lie 


306  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

might  have  only  two  more  months  of  life.  Two  months. 
Ottalie  had  had  two  startling,  frightened  seconds  before 
death  choked  her.  So  this  was  what  Ottalie  had  felt 
in  those  two  seconds,  fear,  a  blind  longing  of  love  for 
half  a  dozen,  a  thought  of  sky  and  freedom,  a  craving, 
an  agony,  and  then  the  fear  again.  He  rose  up. 
"  Even  if  it  be  all  useless,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  I  will 
fire  off  all  my  cartridges  before  I  go."  He  brought  out 
the  Chamberland  filter  and  set  to  work. 


XII 

Let  'em  be  happy,  and  rest  so  contented, 

They  pay  the  tribute  of  their  hearts  and  knees. 

Thiery  and  Theodoret. 

A  FTER  passing  some  of  his  cultures  through  the 

A-\^     filter,  he  injected  subcutaneously  the  filtrate, 

"^    "^"  composed  of  dead  organisms  and  their  toxins, 

into  Lionel's  arms  and  into  his  own.     Taking  one  of 

the  black-faced  monkeys,  which  they  had  brought  with 

them  for  the  purpose,  he  shaved  and  cleansed  a  part 

of  its  neck,  and  injected  a  weak  culture  into  the  space 

prepared,  after  exposing  the  culture  to  a  heat  slightly 

below  the  heat  necessary  to  kill  the  organisms.     Into 

another  monkey  he  injected  a  culture,  weakened  by  a 

slight   addition   of  carbolic.     He  had   no   great   hope 

that  the  measure  which  he  was  preparing  would  be 

of  use ;  he  meant  to  try  them  all.     "  If  I  had  had  more 

time,"  he  thought  bitterly,  "  I  might  have  succeeded." 

He  had  lost  so  much  time  in  getting  the  culture  to 

grow.     As  he  sealed  up  the  punctures  with  collodion, 

he  said  to  himself  tliat  he  had  tried  Lionel's  cure,  and 

that  now  he  was  free  to  try  his  ovra  personal  theories. 

He  would  kill  some  animal  naturally  immune,  such  as 

a  wildebeest  or  a  koodoo,  and  obtain  serum  from  it  di- 

307 


308  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

rect,  in  as  cleanly  a  manner  as  he  could.  Lionel  had 
said  that  such  a  serum,  so  collected,  would  be  useless 
and  probably  septic;  but  who  cared  for  possible  blood- 
poisoning  when  the  alternative  was  certain  death? 
Personally  he  would  prefer  a  death  by  glanders  to  this 
drowsy  dying.  If  he  could  disable  an  antelope,  he 
might  be  able  to  obtain  the  blood  by  formal  antiseptic 
methods  in  sterilised  pots.  It  would  be  worth  trying. 
He  had  taken  serum  from  a  horse  in  England.  He 
knew  the  process.  Unfortunately  the  heart  of  Africa  is 
not  like  England,  nor  is  a  kicking,  horned,  wild  beast, 
tearing  the  earth  to  tatters  in  the  death-agony,  like  a 
staid  and  glossy  horse  neatly  arranged  to  be  tapped. 
"  Besides,"  he  thought,  "  the  beast  may  be  suffering 
from  all  manner  of  diseases,  or  it  may  hold  germs  in 
toleration  which  the  blood  of  man  could  not  tolerate. 
And  how  was  he  to  go  hunting  with  an  equipment  of 
sterile  pots  and  pipes  on  his  back  ?  " 

He  liked  the  notion  too  well  to  be  frightened  by  the 
difficulties.  It  offered  the  possibility  of  success ;  it  gave 
him  hope,  and  it  kept  his  mind  busily  engaged.  Even 
if  he  saw  no  wild  game,  the  hunt  would  be  a  change  to 
him.  He  was  a  moderately  good  rifle-shot.  The  foil 
w^as  the  only  weapon  at  which  he  was  really  clever.  As 
he  looked  to  his  rifle,  he  felt  contempt  for  the  unreality 
of  his  life  in  London.  It  had  been  a  life  presupposing 
an  immense  external  artificiality.  How  little  a  thing 
upset  it !     How  helpless  he  was  when  it  had  been  upset. 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  300 

And  wliat  would  happen  to  England  when  something 
upset  London,  and  scattered  its  constituent  poisons 
broadcast  ?     He  went  out  to  the  hunt. 

The  wind  blew  steadily  from  the  direction  of  the  for- 
est. There  was  no  chance  of  doing  anything  from  that 
side.  He  could  never  approach  game  do^^^lwind.  He 
would  have  to  cross  the  river.  He  had  never  tried  to 
cross  the  river.  He  did  not  even  know  if  it  were  pos- 
sible. The  thought  of  the  crocodiles  and  the  mere  sight 
of  the  swirling  flood  had  kept  him  from  examining  the 
river.  He  had  not  been  near  it  since  he  had  sought 
with  Lionel  for  the  atoxyl  bottles.  What  it  looked  like 
upstream  he  did  not  know.  He  went  upstream  to  look 
for  a  ford. 

At  a  little  distance  beyond  the  hill  he  came  upon 
something  which  made  him  pause.  The  earth  there 
Lad  been  torn  into  tracks  by  the  waters  of  a  recent 
thunder-storm.  The  cleanness  of  the  cuttings  re- 
minded Eoger  of  the  little  bog-bursts  which  he  had  seen 
in  Ireland  after  excessive  rains.  In  one  of  the  tracks 
the  rushing  water  had  swept  bare  the  paving  of  an  an- 
cient road,  leaving  it  clear  to  the  sky  for  about  twenty 
yards.  The  road  was  of  a  hard  even  surface,  like  the 
flooring  of  a  Zimbabwe.  To  the  touch  the  surface  was 
that  of  a  very  good  cycling  road  in  the  best  condition. 
The  ruts  of  carts  were  faintly  marked  upon  it  in  dents. 
The  road  seemed  to  have  been  made  of  he^\^l  stones, 
covered  over  and  bound  with  the  powdered  pounded 


310  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

granite  used  for  the  floors  of  the  ruins.  It  was  five  of 
Eoger's  paces  in  breadth.  The  edges  were  channelled 
with  gutters.  Beyond  the  gutters  were  borders  of  small 
hewn  blocks  neatly  arranged,  so  that  the  growths  near 
the  road  might  not  spread  over  it.  Judging  by  the  di- 
rection of  the  uncovered  part,  the  road  entered  the  Zim- 
babwe through  a  gate  in  the  west  wall.  In  the  other 
direction,  away  from  the  Zimbabwe,  it  led  slantingly 
towards  the  river,  keeping  to  the  top  of  a  ridge  (pos- 
sibly artificial),  so  as  to  avoid  a  low-lying  tract  still 
boggy  from  the  flood.  The  river  made  a  sharp  bend 
at  the  point  where  the  road  impinged  upon  it.  Below 
the  bend  the  lie  of  the  bank  had  an  odd  look,  which  re- 
called human  endeavour  even  now,  after  the  lapse  of  so 
many  centuries.  Greatly  excited,  Koger  hurried  up  to 
look  at  the  place. 

It  had  been  the  port  of  the  Zimbabwe.  The  bank 
had  been  cut  away,  so  as  to  form  a  kind  of  dock.  The 
stumps  of  the  piles  were  still  in  the  mud  in  places. 
They  were  strong,  well-burnt  wooden  piles,  such  as  are 
used  for  jetties  everywhere.  By  the  feel  of  the  ground 
on  the  jetty  top  there  was  paved-work  not  far  below  it. 
A  dig  or  two  with  a  knife  blade  shewed  that  this  was 
the  case.  The  bank  was  paved  like  the  road.  Looking 
back  towards  the  ruin,  Roger  could  mark  the  track  of 
the  road  running  up  to  the  wall.  Even  where  it  was 
overgrown  he  could  tell  its  whereabouts  by  the  compara- 
tive lightness  of  the  colour  of  the  grass  upon  it.     Be- 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  311 

yond  the  ruin,  running  almost  straight  to  the  south- 
east, he  noticed  a  similar  ribbon  of  light  grass,  marking 
another  road.  So  this  was  a  port,  this  Zimbabwe,  a 
port  at  the  terminus  of  a  road.  The  road  might  lead 
direct  to  Ophir,  whence  Solomon  obtained  his  ivory 
and  apes  and  peacocks.  Probably  there  were  gold 
mines  near  at  hand.  This  place,  so  quiet  now,  had 
once  seen  a  gold-rush.  The  wharf  there  had  been 
thronged  by  jostlcrs  hurrying  to  the  fields.  The  basin 
of  ill-smelling  red  mud  had  once  been  full  of  ships. 
And  what  ships ?  What  people ?  And  when ?  "A 
brachycephalic  people  of  clever  gold-workers  of  un- 
known antiquity." 

Just  above  the  "  port "  the  river  was  extremely  nar- 
row. Sticking  out  of  the  water  in  the  narrow  part 
were  masses  of  masonry,  which  may  at  one  time  have 
served  as  the  piers  of  a  bridge.  They  were  so  close  to- 
gether that  Koger  crossed  the  river  by  them  without 
difficulty.  On  the  other  side,  as  he  had  expected,  the 
mark  of  the  road  was  ruled  in  a  dim  line  in  the  direction 
of  the  forest.  The  country  was  rougher  on  that  side. 
The  line  of  the  road  was  marked  less  plainly. 

Late  that  afternoon,  after  an  exliausting  stalk,  he  got 
two  shots  at  what  he  took  to  be  a  koodoo  *  cow.  He 
went  forward  out  of  heart,  believing  that  both  had 
missed.  Bright  blood  on  the  grass  shewed  him  that  he 
had  hit  her.     A  little  further  on  he  found  the  cow  down, 

*  It  was  probably  an  oryx. 


313  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

with  her  hindquarters  paralysed.  She  struggled  to  get 
up  to  face  him,  poor  brute;  but  she  was  too  hard  hit; 
she  was  dying.  "When  she  had  struggled  a  little,  he  was 
able  to  close  with  her,  avoiding  the  great  horns.  He 
was  even  able  to  prepare  the  throat  in  some  measure  for 
the  operation.  Lastly,  avoiding  a  final  struggle,  he 
contrived  to  sterilise  his  hands  with  a  solution  from 
one  of  the  pots  slung  about  him.  The  sight  of  his  hands 
even  after  this  made  him  despair  of  getting  an  uncon- 
taminated  serum.  But  there  was  no  help  for  it.  He 
took  out  the  knife,  made  the  incision  in  the  throat,  and 
inserted  the  sterilised  tube. 

When  he  turned  with  his  booty  to  go  home,  he  noticed 
a  little  fawn  which  stood  on  a  knoll  above  him,  looking 
at  him.  She  stood  quite  still,  so  shaded  off  against  the 
grasses  that  only  a  lucky  eye  could  distinguish  her. 
She  was  waiting,  perhaps,  for  him  to  go  away,  so  that 
she  might  call  her  mother.  She  made  no  effort  to  run 
from  him.  Something  in  her  appearance  made  him 
think  that  she  was  ill.  The  carriage  of  her  head 
seemed  queer.  Her  coat  had  a  look  of  staring.  He 
wished  then,  that  he  had  brought  his  glasses,  so  that  he 
might  examine  her  narrowly.  Moving  round  a  little, 
he  made  sure  that  her  coat  was  in  poor  condition.  He 
judged  that  she  might  have  been  mauled  by  a  beast  of 
prey. 

He  was  just  about  to  move  on  when  a  thought  oc- 
curred to  him.     What  if  the  young  of  the  wild  game 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  313 

should  not  be  immune?  What  if  the  bite  of  the  in- 
fected tsetse  should  set  up  a  mild  form  of  nagana  in 
them  from  which  they  recover?  What  if  that  mild 
sickness  should  confer  a  subsequent  immunity  on  the  in- 
flicted individual  ?  Surely  the  result  would  be  obvious. 
"  Vaccination  "  with  the  blood  of  the  afflicted  calf  or 
fawn  would  set  up  a  mild  attack  of  the  disease  in  man, 
and,  perhaps,  give  him  subsequent  immunity  from 
more  virulent  infection.  The  ailments  of  wild  animals 
are  few.  What  if  this  fawn  should  be  suffering  from 
a  mild  attack  of  the  disease  ?  He  crept  a  little  nearer 
to  her,  bending  low  down  to  see  if  he  could  see  the 
swellings  on  the  legs  and  belly  which  mark  the  disease 
in  quadrupeds.  He  could  not  be  sure  of  them.  He 
could  only  be  sure  that  the  coat  was  staring,  and  that 
the  nose  and  eyes  were  watery.  He  whistled  gently  to 
the  little  creature,  hoping  that  she  would  be  too  young 
to  be  frightened  of  him.  She  stared  at  him  with  wide 
eyes,  trembling  slightly,  flexing  her  ears.  He  whistled 
to  her  again.  She  called  plaintively  to  her  dam.  She 
lowered  her  little  head,  ready  to  attack,  pawing  the 
ground  like  a  warrior.  Roger  fired.  Afterwards  he 
felt  as  though  he  had  killed  a  girl. 

He  returned  to  "  Portobe  "  weighted  down  with  jars, 
which  he  emptied  carefully  into  sterilised  pans.  The 
result  made  "  Portobe "  look  like  a  cannibal's  dairy. 
An  examination  of  the  blood  shewed  that  both  animals 
had  harboured  trypanosomes  in  large  numbers.     When 


314  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

the  blood  had  coagulated,  he  decanted  the  serum  into 
sterilised  bottles,  to  which  he  added  minute  quantities 
of  antiseptic.  That  operation  gave  him  his  serum. 
He  had  now  to  test  it  for  bacteria  and  for  toxins.  He 
added  a  portion  from  each  bottle  to  various  culture- 
mediums  in  test-tubes.  He  added  these  test  portions  to 
all  his  media,  to  glycerine-agar  and  glucose  as  well 
as  to  those  better  suited  to  the  growth  of  trypano- 
somes. 

He  set  them  aside  to  incubate. 

If  there  were  bacteria  in  the  sera  they  would  increase 
and  multiply  on  the  delightful  food  of  the  media. 
When  Roger  came  to  examine  the  media,  he  came  ex- 
pecting to  find  them  swarming  with  bacteria  of  all 
knovra  kinds.  He  was  naturally  vain  of  the  success  of 
his  hunting ;  but  he  knew  that  crude  surgery  out  in  the 
open  is  not  so  wholesome  a  method  of  obtaining  serum 
as  might  be.  Still,  a  close  examination  shewed  him 
that  the  cultures  had  not  developed  bacteria.  He  was 
pleased  at  this;  but  his  pleasure  was  dashed  by  the 
thought  that  it  was  rather  too  good  to  be  true.  He 
might  have  muddled  the  experiment  by  adding  too 
much  disinfectant  to  the  sera  while  bottling,  by  using 
cultures  which  had  in  some  way  lost  their  attractive- 
ness, or  by  some  failure  in  the  preparation  of  the  slides. 
After  going  through  his  examination  the  second  time, 
he  decided  to  proceed.  He  injected  large  doses  of  the 
sera  into  two  monkeys. 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  315 

Again  he  was  successful.  The  monkeys  shewed  no 
symptoms  of  poisoning.  The  sera,  whatever  they  might 
be,  were  evidently  harmless  to  the  "  homologous  "  ani- 
mal. But  the  success  made  Roger  even  more  doubtful 
of  himself.  It  made  him  actually  anxious,  lest  in 
adding  disinfectant  to  the  sera,  he  should  have  destroyed 
the  protective  forces  in  them,  as  well  as  the  micro-or- 
ganisms at  which  he  had  aimed.  He  delayed  no  longer. 
He  injected  Lionel  with  a  large  dose  of  the  serum  from 
the  grown  animal ;  he  injected  himself  with  the  serum 
from  the  fawn.  Going  down  to  the  village,  he  made  a 
minute  examination  of  those  who  were  the  least  ill. 
Choosing  out  those  who  shewed  no  outward  signs  of  the 
congenital  or  acquired  forms  of  blood-poisoning,  he  in- 
jected them  with  sera,  thinking  that  if  they  recovered 
he  would  use  their  sera  for  other  cases.  Eor  his  own 
part,  he  felt  better  already.  The  excitement  of  hope 
was  on  him.     He  had  risen  above  his  body. 

For  the  next  few  days  his  life  was  a  fever  of  hope, 
broken  with  hours  of  despair.  One  of  his  patients  died 
suddenly  the  day  after  the  injection.  Lionel  seemed  no 
better.  Another  patient  seemed  markedly  worse.  He 
repeated  the  doses,  and  passed  a  miserable  morning 
watching  Lionel.  The  evening  temperature  shewed  a 
marked  decrease.  An  examination  of  the  throat  glands 
shewed  that  the  trypanosomes  had  become  less  waggish. 
They  were  bunching  into  clumps,  "  agglutinising,"  with 
slow,  irregular  movements.     That  seemed  to  him  to  be 


316  MULTITUDE  A:N'D  SOLITUDE 

the  first  hopeful  sign.  On  studying  his  books  he  could 
not  be  sure  that  it  really  was  a  good  sign.  One  book 
seemed  to  say  that  agglutination  made  the  germs  more 
virulent;  another  that  it  paralysed  them.  He  could 
see  for  himself  that  they  had  ceased  to  multiply  by 
splitting  longitudinally.  And  from  that  he  argued  that 
their  vitality  had  been  weakened. 

The  next  day  Lionel  was  better;  but  the  native  pa- 
tients were  all  worse.  They  were  alarmingly  worse. 
They  shewed  sjTnptoms  which  were  not  in  the  books. 
They  swelled  slightly,  as  though  the  skin  had  been  in- 
flated. The  flesh  seemed  bladdery  and  inelastic  at  the 
same  time.  The  pigment  of  the  skin  became  paler ;  the 
patients  became  an  ashy  grey  colour.  The  blood  of  one 
of  these  sufferers  killed  a  guinea-pig  in  three  hours. 
After  a  short  period  of  evident  suffering  they  died,  one 
after  the  other,  apparently  of  the  exhaustion  following 
on  high  fever.  Eoger,  in  a  dreadful  state  of  mental 
anguish,  stayed  with  them  till  they  were  dead,  trying 
remedy  after  remedy.  He  felt  that  he  had  killed  them 
all.  He  felt  that  their  blood  was  on  his  hands.  He 
felt  that  all  those  people  might  still  have  been  alive  had 
he  not  tried  his  wretched  nostrum  on  them.  There  was 
no  doubt  that  the  sera  had  caused  their  deaths.  Those 
who  had  had  no  serum  injections  were  no  worse  than 
they  had  been.  He  wondered  how  long  it  would  be 
before  these  symptoms  of  swelling  and  high  fever  ap- 
peared in  himself  and  Lionel.     He  went  back  to  "  For- 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  317 

tobe  "  expecting  to  find  Lionel  in  high  fever,  going  the 
road  to  Marumba. 

He  found  Lionel  weakly  walking  about  outside  the 
tent,  conscious,  but  not  yet  able  to  talk  intelligibly. 
He  had  not  expected  to  see  Lionel  walk  again.  The 
sight  made  him  forget  the  deaths  down  in  the  village. 
He  shouted  with  joy.  Closer  examination  made  him 
less  joyous.  The  skin  of  Lionel's  arm,  very  dull  and 
inelastic  to  the  touch,  was  slightly  swollen  with  some- 
thing of  the  bladdery  look  which  he  had  noticed  in  the 
men  now  dead.  It  was  as  though  the  body  had  been 
encased  in  a  bladdery  substance  slightly  inflated.  He 
had  no  heart  to  test  the  symptoms  upon  the  body  of  an- 
other animal.  There  was  death  enough  about  without 
that.  He  sat  down  over  the  microscope  and  examined 
his  sera  again  and  again.  He  could  find  no  trace  of 
any  living  micro-organisms.  The  sera  seemed  to  be 
sterile.  But  he  saw  now  that  it  had  some  evil  effect 
upon  those  infected  with  trypanosomes.  He  could  not 
guess  the  exact  chemical  nature  of  the  effect.  It  prob- 
ably affected  the  constituents  of  the  blood  in  some  way. 
The  poison  in  the  sera  seemed  to  need  the  presence  of 
trypanosomes  to  complete  its  virulence. 

Wliile  he  worked  over  the  microscope,  he  noticed  that 
his  own  flesh  was  developing  the  symptom.  He  put 
aside  his  work  when  he  saw  that.  He  concluded  that 
Lionel  and  he  were  marked  for  death  within  twenty- 
four  hours.     Before  death  (as  he  had  learned  in  the 


318  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

village)  they  might  look  to  suffer  much  paiu.  After 
some  hours  of  suffering  they  would  become  unconscious 
and  delirious.  After  raving  for  a  while  they  would 
die  there  in  the  lonely  hut,  and  presently  the  ants  would 
march  in  in  regular  ranks  to  give  them  cleanly  burial. 
Their  bones  would  lie  on  the  cots  till  some  thunder- 
storm swept  them  under  mud.  !N"obody  would  ever 
hear  of  them.  They  would  be  forgotten.  People  in 
England  would  wonder  what  had  become  of  them ;  they 
would  wonder  less  as  time  went  on,  and  at  last  they 
would  cease  to  wonder,  l^ewspapers  would  allude  to 
him  from  time  to  time  in  paragraphs  two  lines  long. 
Then,  as  his  contemporaries  gi'ew  older,  that  would  stop, 
too.  He  would  be  forgotten,  utterly,  and  nobody  would 
know,  and  nobody  would  care. 

It  was  dreadful  to  him.  to  think  that  nobody  would 
know.  He  could  count  on  an  hour  or  two  of  freedom 
from  pain.  Before  the  pain  shut  out  the  world  from 
him,  he  would  try  to  leave  some  record  of  what  they 
were.  He  sat  down  to  write  a  death-letter.  It  was 
useless,  of  course,  and  yet  it  might,  perhaps,  by  a  rare 
chance,  some  day,  come  to  the  knowledge  of  those  whom 
he  had  known  in  England.  He  wondered  who  would 
find  the  letter,  if  it  were  ever  found.  Some  great  Ger- 
man scientist  about  to  banish  the  disease.  Some 
drunken  English  gold  prospector  with  a  cockney  accent. 
Some  missionary,  or  sportsman,  or  commercial  travel- 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  319 

ler.  More  likely  it  would  be  some  roving  savage  with  a 
snuff-box  in  bis  earlobe,  and  a  stone  of  copper  wire 
about  bis  limbs.     He  wrote  out  a  sbort  letter : 

"  Lionel  Uppingham  Huntley  Heseltine,  Eoger 
Monkhouse  iN'aldrett.  Dying  here  of  blood  poisoning, 
following  the  use  of  koodoo  serum  for  trypanosomiasis. 
Should  this  come  to  the  hands  of  a  European,  he  is  re- 
quested to  communicate  with  Dr.  Heseltine,  4YA  Har- 
ley  Square,  JVimpole  Street,  W.,  London,  England,  and 
with  the  British  Consul  at  Shirikanga,  C.  F.  S.'' 

He  added  a  few  words  more;  but  afterwards  erased 
them.  He  had  given  the  essentials.  There  was  no 
need  to  say  more.  He  translated  the  brief  message 
into  French,  Spanish,  and  German,  and  signed  the 
copies.  He  placed  the  document  in  a  tin  soap  box 
which  he  chained  to  an  iron  rod  driven  Into  the  floor  of 
the  hut.  When  that  was  done,  he  felt  that  he  had  taken 
his  farewell  to  life. 

He  thought  of  Ottalie,  without  hope  of  any  kind. 
He  was  daunted  by  the  thought  of  her.  He  could  not 
feel  that  his  soul  would  ever  reach  to  her  soul,  across 
all  those  wilds.  He  was  heavy  with  the  growing  of  the 
change  upon  him.  This  death  of  which  he  had  thought 
so  grandly  seemed  very  stupid  now  that  he  was  coming 
to  know  it.     He  remembered  reproving  a  young  poet 


320  MULTITUDE  A:N"D  SOLITUDE 

for  the  remark  that  death  could  not  possibly  he  so 
stupid  as  life.  It  was  monstrous  to  suppose  that  the 
young  poet  could  be  right  after  all.     And  yet 

He  went  out  hurriedly  and  released  all  the  laboratory 
animals:  guinea-pigs,  monkeys,  and  white  rats.  They 
should  not  die  of  starvation,  poor  beasts.  They 
squeaked  and  gibbered  excitedly  for  a  minute  or  two, 
as  they  moved  off  to  explore.  Probably  the  snakes  had 
them  all  within  the  week. 

After  some  hours  of  waiting  for  the  agony  to  begin, 
Roger  fell  asleep,  and  slept  till  the  next  morning. 
When  he  woke  he  sat  up  and  looked  about  him,  being 
not  quite  sure  at  first  that  he  was  still  alive.  His  pulse 
was  normal,  his  tongue  was  normal,  his  heart  was  nor- 
mal. He  felt  particularly  well.  He  looked  at  his 
flesh.  The  bladdery  look  had  relapsed,  the  skin  was 
normal  again.  Looking  over  to  Lionel's  cot,  he  saw 
that  Lionel  was  not  in  the  hut.  Tearing  that  he  had 
wandered  out  to  die  in  a  fit  of  delirium,  he  went  out 
into  the  open  to  look  for  him. 

It  was  a  bright,  windy,  tropic  morning,  with  a  tonic 
briskness  in  the  air  such  as  one  feels  sometimes  in 
England,  in  April  and  late  September.  One  of  the  re- 
leased monkeys  was  fast  by  the  neck  again  upon  his 
perch.  He  was  munching  a  biscuit  with  his  entire 
vitality.  Lionel  sat  upon  the  wall,  sunning  himself  in 
a  blanket.  His  attitude  suggested  both  great  physical 
weakness,  and  entire  self-confidence. 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  321 

"  I  say,  Roger,"  he  began.  "  It's  too  bad.  You  are 
a  juggins!  You've  let  all  our  menagerie  go.  What 
are  we  to  do  for  laboratory  animals?  I  caught 
McGinty  here.  Otherwise  we'd  have  been  w^ithout  a 
single  one.  Every  cage  in  the  place  is  wide  open. 
What  have  you  been  doing  ? " 

"  My  God !  "  said  Roger.     "  He's  cured !  " 

"  Cured,  sir  ?  "  said  Lionel.  "  Why  shouldn't  I  be  ? 
There's  been  nothing  wTong  with  me  except  fever.  But 
I'm  not  joking.  I  want  to  know  about  these  animals. 
What  were  you  thinking  of  to  let  them  out  ?  " 

"  Lionel,"  said  Roger,  "  for  the  last  five  weeks  you've 
been  dying  of  sleeping  sickness.  The  atoxyl  was  lost. 
I  believe  you  threw  it  away." 

"  There's  the  atoxyl,"  said  Lionel,  pointing.  "  In 
the  hole  in  the  wall  there.  I  put  it  there  yesterday, 
after  dosing  those  two." 

Sure  enough,  there  stood  the  bottle  in  the  dimness 
of  a  hole  in  the  wall.  Roger  must  have  passed  it  some 
fifty  times. 

"  I  looked  for  it  everj^'^vhere,"  said  Roger. 

Lionel's  eyes  narrowed  to  the  sharpness  of  medical 
scrutiny.     He  examined  Roger  for  some  time. 

"  Let  me  take  your  pulse,  Lionel,"  said  Roger,  star- 
ing back. 

"  My  pulse  is  all  right,"  said  Lionel.  "  Be  off  and 
look  for  guinea-pigs."  The  pulse  was  all  right ;  so  was 
the  llesh  of  the  wrist. 


322  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

"  I  suppose  the  next  thing  you'll  want  me  to  believe 
is  that  I've  still  got  sleeping  sickness?  Well,  look  at 
my  tongue.  Perhaps  that  will  convince  you."  Lionel 
waited  for  an  answer  for  a  moment  with  protruding 
tongue.  The  tongue  was  steady.  Lionel  returned  to 
the  charge.  "  What  have  you  been  playing  at  with 
those  Weissner  serum  pans  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Have  you 
been  bleeding  the  monkeys?  You  seem  to  have  been 
having  a  field-day  generally." 

"  I  tell  you,"  said  Eoger,  "  that  you've  been  dying  of 
sleeping  sickness  for  five  weeks.  Look  at  your  tem- 
perature chart.  Look  at  my  diary.  After  the  atoxyl 
was  lost,  I  tried  every  mortal  thing  we  had.  And  noth- 
ing was  any  good.  You  were  drowsing  away  to  death 
for  days.     Don't  you  remember  ?  " 

"  I  remember  having  fever,  and  you  or  somebody 
messing  around  with  a  needle.  But,  five  weeks,  man! 
Five  weeks.     Come !  " 

"  I  tell  you,  you  have.  You've  been  unconscious 
half  the  time." 

"  Well.  If  I've  had  sleeping  sickness,  how  comes  it 
that  I'm  here,  talking  to  you?  You  say  yourself  the 
atoxyl  was  lost." 

"  Lionel,"  said  Roger,  "  I  injected  you  with  a  dead 
culture.  After  that,  I  shot  a  couple  of  koodoos  (if  they 
were  koodoos),  a  cow  and  a  fawn.  The  fawn  had  na- 
gana  or  something.  I  took  sera  from  them,  and  in- 
jected the  sera  into  both  of  us.     Great  big  doses  in  both 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  323 

cases.  I  injected  the  sera  into  seven  poor  devils  in  the 
village,  and  they  all  swelled  up  and  died.  It  was  aw- 
ful, Lionel.     What  makes  people  swell  up  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Lionel.  "  I  suppose  it  might 
be  anthrax.     Was  there  fever  ?  " 

"  Intense  pain,  very  high  fever,  and  death  apparently 
from  exhaustion.  And  you  and  I  swelled  up  a  little; 
and  I  made  sure  yesterday  that  we  were  both  going  to 
die  too.  I  wrote  letters,  and  stuck  them  up  on  a  bar 
inside  there." 

"  Oh,  so  that  was  what  the  rod  was  for  ?  I  thought 
it  was  something  funny.  And  now  we  are  both 
cured  ?  " 

"  Yes.  My  God,  Lionel,  I'm  thankful  to  hear  your 
voice  again.     You  don't  know  what  it's  been." 

They  shook  hands. 

"  You're  a  public  benefactor,"  said  Lionel.  He 
looked  hard  at  Koger.  "  I  give  you  best,"  he  added. 
"  I  thought  you  were  a  griff.  But  you've  found  a  cure, 
it  seems.  Eh?  Look  at  him.  It's  the  first  time  he's 
realised  it !  " 

"  But,"  Roger  stammered,  "  I've  killed  seven  with 
it ;  that's  not  what  I  call  a  cure." 

"  Did  you  inject  the  seven  with  the  dead  culture 
first  ?  "  Lionel  asked. 

"  N"©.     Only  myself  and  you." 

"  There  you  are,"  said  Lionel.  "  You  griffs  make 
the  discoveries,  and  haven't  got  the  gumption  to  see 


324  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

them.  Mj  good  Lord!  It's  as  plain  as  measles. 
You  inject  the  dead  culture.  That's  the  first  step. 
That  makes  the  trypanosomes  agglutinise.  Very  well, 
then.  You  inject  your  serum  when  they  are  aggluti- 
nised;  not  before.  When  they  are  agglutinised,  the 
serum  destroys  them,  after  raising  queer  symptoms. 
When  they  are  not  agglutinised  the  serum  destroys  you 
by  the  excess  of  what  causes  the  queer  symptoms.  I 
don't  understand  those  symptoms.  They  are  so  en- 
tirely unexpected.     Did  you  examine  the  blood  ?  " 

"  One  cubic  centimetre  of  the  venous  blood  killed  a 
guinea-pig  in  three  hours." 

"  Yes,  no  doubt.  But  did  you  look  at  the  blood 
microscopically  ? " 

"  'No,"  said  Roger,  ashamed.  "  I  looked  at  my  sera 
for  streptococci." 

"  You  juggins !  "  said  Lionel.  "  Yet  you  come  out 
and  land  on  a  cure.  Well,  well !  You're  a  lucky  dog. 
Let's  go  in  and  look  at  our  glands."  Roger  noticed 
that  he  walked  with  the  totter  of  one  newly  risen  from  a 
violent  attack  of  fever. 

Eour  months  later,  the  two  men  reached  Shirikanga 
in  a  canoe  of  their  own  making.  They  were  paddled 
by  four  survivors  from  the  village.  All  the  rest  were 
dead,  either  of  sleeping  sickness  or  of  the  serum. 
Lionel  had  not  discovered  what  it  was  in  the  serum 
which  caused  the  fatal  sjTuptoms.  It  contained  some 
quality  which  caused  the  streptococci,  or  pus-forming 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  325 

microbes,  to  increase;  but,  as  far  as  be  could  discover, 
tbis  quality  was  exerted  only  wben  tbe  patient's  blood 
contained  virulent  trypanosomes,  or  some  otber  active 
toxin-producing  micro-organisms  in  tbe  unagglutinised 
condition.  Tbey  cured  four  of  tbe  villagers.  Tbey 
migbt  bave  saved  more  bad  tbey  been  able  to  begin  tbe 
treatment  earlier  in  tbe  disease.  Tbey  were  not  dis- 
satisfied witb  tbeir  success.  Tbey  "  bad  powler't  up 
and  down  a  bit,"  like  tbe  Jovial  Huntsmen.  Tbey  bad 
come  to  some  knowledge  of  eacb  otber,  and  to  some  ex- 
tension of  tbeir  faculties. 

Scientifically,  tbey  bad  done  less  tban  tbey  bad 
boped;  but  more  tban  tbey  bad  expected  to  do.  Tbey 
bad  been  tbe  first  to  cure  cases  witb  animal  serum. 
Tbey  bad  been  tbe  first  to  study  in  any  way  tbe  effect 
of  nagana  upon  tbe  young  of  wild  game,  and  to  prepare 
(as  yet  untested)  vaccine  from  young  antelopes,  quag- 
gas,  and  elands.  Tbey  bad  discovered  a  wasb  of  Paris 
green  and  lime  wbicb  destroyed  tbe  tsetse  pupse.  Tbey 
bad  cleared  some  tbree  miles  of  fly  belt.  They  bad 
studied  tbe  tsetse.  Tbey  bad  surveyed  tbe  wbole  and 
excavated  a  part  of  tbe  Zimbabwe.  Lastly,  tbey  bad 
settled  tbe  foundations  of  friendsbip  between  tbem. 

That  was,  perbaps,  tbe  best  result  of  tbe  expedition. 
Tbey  bad  settled  a  friendsbip  likely  to  last  tbrougb  life. 
Tbey  were  confident  tbat  tbey  would  do  great  tbings 
together.  Sbirikanga  bove  in  sight  at  tbe  river  mouth. 
Two  country  barques  lay  at  anchor  there,  witb  grimy 


320  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

awnings  over  their  poops.  Ashore,  in  the  blaze  of  the 
day,  were  a  few  white-washed  huts,  from  one  of  which 
a  Union  Jack  floated.  In  the  compound  of  another 
hut  a  negro  was  slowly  hoisting  the  ball  of  a  flag.  He 
brought  it  to  the  truck  and  broke  it  out,  so  that  it  flut- 
tered free.  It  was  a  red  burgee,  the  letter  B  of  the 
code. 

"  !MaIl  day,"  said  Lionel.  "  We  shall  be  out  of  here 
to-night.  We  shall  be  at  Banana  by  Wednesday.  That 
means  Antwerp  by  Wednesday  three  weeks.  London's 
not  far  away." 

"  Good,"  said  Roger.  He  was  not  thinking  of  Lon- 
don. He  was  thinking  of  a  lonely  Irish  hill,  where 
there  were  many  yellow-hammers.  The  trees  there 
stood  up  like  ghosts.  Eound  an  old,  grey,  two-storied 
house  the  bees  murmured.  He  was  thinking  that  per- 
haps one  or  two  roses  might  be  in  blossom  about  the 
house  even  a  month  later,  when  he  would  stand  there. 

He  thought  of  his  life  in  Africa,  and  of  its  bearing 
upon  himself.  It  had  done  him  good.  He  was  worth 
more  to  the  world  than  he  had  been  a  year  before.  He 
thought  little  of  his  success.  It  had  been  fortunate. 
It  had  saved  Lionel.  Wlien  he  thought  of  his  earlier 
life  he  sighed.  He  knew  that  he  would  have  achieved 
more  than  that  sorry  triumph  had  he  been  trained. 
His  life  had  been  improvised,  never  organised.  Great 
things  are  done  only  when  the  improvising  mind  has  a 
great  organisation  behind  it. 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  327 

He  tbougbt  it  all  over  again  when  he  lay  in  his  bunk 
in  a  cabin  of  the  Kahinda,  on  his  way  up-coast.  He 
was  at  peace  with  the  world.  Clean  sheets,  the  Euro- 
pean faces,  and  the  civilised  meals  in  the  saloon,  had 
wiped  out  the  memory  of  the  past.  Africa  was  already 
very  dim  to  him.  The  Zimbabwe  rose  up  in  his  mind 
like  something  seen  in  a  dream,  a  dim,  but  rather  grand 
shape.  The  miseries  of  the  camp  were  dim.  He  had 
been  sad  that  morning  in  bidding  farewell  to  the  four 
whose  lives  he  had  saved.  Jellybags,  Toro,  Buckshot, 
and  Pocahontas.  He  repeated  their  names  and  con- 
sidered their  engaging  traits.  Jellybags  was  the  best 
of  them.  He  had  liked  Jellybags.  Jellybags  had 
wanted  to  come  with  them.  He  would  never  see  Jelly- 
bags again.  He  didn't  care  particularly.  The  sheets 
of  the  bunk  were  very  comfortable.  At  the  end  of  a 
great  adventure  things  are  seen  in  false  proportions. 
Only  the  thought  that  those  men  had  shared  his  life  for 
a  while  gave  him  the  suggestion  of  a  qualm  before  he 
put  them  from  his  mind. 

He  thought  of  Ottalie.  He  saw  her  more  clearly 
than  of  old.  In  the  old  days  he  had  seen  her  through 
the  pink  mists  of  amatory  sentiment.  The  sentiment 
was  gone.  Action  had  knocked  it  out  of  him.  He 
saw  her  now  as  she  was.  She  was  more  wonderful  in 
the  clearer  light;  more  wonderful  than  ever;  a  fine, 
trained,  scrupulous  mind,  drilled  to  a  beautiful  unerr- 
ing choice  in  life.     She  was  near  and  real  to  him,  so 


328  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

real  that  he  seemed  to  be  within  her  mind,  following  its 
fearlessness.  He  felt  that  he  understood  her  now. 
With  a  rush  of  emotion  he  felt  that  he  could  bring  what 
she  had  been  into  the  life  of  his  time. 

In  the  steamer  at  Banana  was  a  German  scientist 
bound  to  Sierra  Leone.  He  spoke  English.  He  asked 
the  two  friends  about  their  achievement.  Lionel  told 
him  that  they  had  discovered  a  serum  for  the  cure  of 
trypanosomiasis.  The  German  smiled.  "  Ah,"  he 
said.  "  There  is  already  sera.  The  Japanese  bacte- 
riologist, what  was  his  name  ?  Shima  ?  Oshima  ? 
Shiga  ?  ^0,  Hiroshiga.  He  have  found  a  good  serum, 
which  makes  der  peoples  die  sometimes.  Then  there  is 
Miihlbauer  who  have  improved  the  serum  of  Hiroshiga. 
He  have  added  a  little  trypanroth  or  a  little  mercury  or 
somedings.  Now  he  have  cured  everymans.  I  wonder 
you  have  not  seen  of  Hiroshiga  in  der  newspapers.  He 
have  make  his  experiments  in  der  spring;  and  Miihl- 
bauer he  is  now  at  iN'airobi  curing  everjTnans.  He 
have  vaccination  camps." 

"  Well,"  said  Lionel.  "  We've  been  beaten  on  the 
post.  You  hear,  Roger?  All  that  we  have  done  has 
been  done." 

"  You  wait,"  said  Roger.     "  We're  only  beginning." 

Afterwards  he  was  sad  that  it  was  ending  thus.  He 
would  have  been  proud  to  have  given  a  cure  to  the  world. 
It  would  have  been  an  offering  to  Ottalie.  She  would 
have  loved  to  share  that  honour,    H^  had  plucked  that 


MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE  329 

poor  little  flower  for  her  at  the  risk  of  his  life.  It  was 
hard  to  find  that  it  was  only  a  paper  flower  after  all. 
He  thought  of  Ottalie  as  standing  at  the  window  of  the 
upper  passage  looking  out  for  him.  She  seemed  to  him 
to  be  something  of  all  cleanness  and  fearlessness,  wait- 
ing for  him  to  lead  her  into  the  world,  so  that  men 
might  serve  her. 

In  Ottalie's  old  home,  a  month  later,  he  saw  his  way. 
Leslie,  Lionel,  and  himself  sat  together  in  the  twilight, 
talking  of  her.  Roger  was  deeply  moved  by  a  sense  of 
her  presence  there.  He  leaned  forward  to  them  and 
spoke  earnestly,  asking  them  to  join  hands  in  building 
some  memorial  to  her.  "  She  was  like  a  new  spirit 
coming  to  the  world,"  he  said.  "  Like  the  new  spirit, 
"We  ought  to  bring  that  new  spirit  into  the  world.  Let 
us  form  a  brotherhood  of  three  to  do  that.  We  are 
three  untrained  enthusiasts.  Let  us  prepare  an  organi- 
sation for  the  enthusiasts  who  come  after  us.  Let  us 
build  up  an  interest  in  the  new  hygiene  and  the  new 
science;  in  all  that  is  cleanly  and  fearless.  We  could 
start  a  little  school  and  laboratory  together,  and  run  a 
monthly  paper  preaching  our  tenets.  All  the  ills  of 
modem  life  come  from  dirt  and  sentiment,  and  the 
cowardice  which  both  imply.  If  we  stand  together  and 
attack  those  ills,  year  in  and  year  out,  we  shall  get  rid 
of  them.  Little  by  little,  if  one  stands  at  a  street  cor- 
ner, the  crowd  gathers." 

"  Yes,"  said  Leslie.     "  And  you  think  dirt  and  senti- 


330  MULTITUDE  AND  SOLITUDE 

ment  the  bad  things?  Well,  perhaps  you're  right. 
They're  both  due  to  a  want  of  order  in  the  mind. 
What  do  you  think,  Lionel  ? " 

"  I  ?  "  said  Lionel.  "  I  say,  certainly.  We  three 
are  living  in  a  most  wonderful  time.  The  world  is  just 
coming  to  see  that  science  is  not  a  substitute  for  re- 
ligion, but  religion  of  a  very  deep  and  austere  kind. 
We  are  seeing  only  the  beginning  of  it." 

They  settled  a  plan  of  action  together. 

Koger  went  out  into  the  garden,  and  down  the  hill, 
thinking  of  the  crusade  against  the  weariness  and  filth 
of  cities.  There  was  an  afterglow  upon  the  hills.  It 
fell  with  a  ruddy  glare  on  the  window  of  his  dream. 
It  thrilled  him.  The  light  would  fall  there  long  after 
the  house  had  fallen.  It  had  lighted  Ottalie.  It  had 
burned  upon  the  pane  when  Ottalie's  mother  stood 
there.  Nature  was  enduring;  Nature  the  imperfect; 
Nature  the  enemy,  which  blighted  the  rose  and  spread 
the  weed.  Thinking  of  the  woman  who  had  waited 
for  him  there  in  his  vision,  he  prayed  that  her  influence 
in  him  might  help  to  bring  to  earth  that  promised  life, 
in  which  man,  curbing  Nature  to  his  use,  would  assert  a 
new  law  and  rule  like  a  king,  where  now,  even  in  his 
strength,  he  walks  sentenced,  a  prey  to  all  things 
baser. 

THE    END 

Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


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Cloth,  umo,  $1.25;  leather,  $1.50. 
"  Neither  in  the  design  nor  in  the  telling  did,  or  could, 
'  Enoch  Arden '  come  near  the  artistic  truth  of  '  The 
Daffodil  Fields.'" — Sir  Arthur  Quiller-Couch,  Cam- 
bridge University. 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 
Publishers    64-66  Pifth  Avenue    New  York 


All 


THE  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

Santa  Barbara 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW. 


3  1205  02114  1955 


yC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

A  A  001  427  708 


MrORD&  GREEN 

BOOKSELLERS 


liii 

mm ,-.. 


